Reasonable Doubt
by Sparkle731
Summary: A/U: Hutch is an attorney hired to defend a disillusioned, burned out cop accused of murder. Beta read by DJJBlack. Story is now complete
1. Chapter 1

**REASONABLE DOUBT**

**A/U: Hutch is an attorney hired to defend a disillusioned, burned out cop accused of murder. Beta read by DJJBlack**

**CHAPTER 1**

Ken Hutchinson, known as Hutch to his friends, reached out to silence the alarm before it could awaken Vanessa. His wife was not a morning person and Hutch was in no mood to continue their fight from the night before. He waited a beat to make sure she hadn't been disturbed, then slipped out of bed and padded into the bathroom.

Casting a final glance at his wife's sleeping form; he silently closed the door and reached into the shower stall. As he waited for the water to reach a comfortable temperature, he stripped off the pajama bottoms he routinely slept in and tossed them in the general direction of the hamper. He had to admit to himself that he took some satisfaction in knowing that his pants on the floor would give Vanessa fits.

Having safely shut himself behind the shower's frosted glass door, he turned his face up into the spray and closed his eyes, letting the water wash over him for several long seconds. Some mornings he wished he could just stand there forever, letting all the doubts, fears and uncertainty that made up his life wash down the drain along with the warm water. Finally, being very careful not to use Vanessa's precious lavender scented soap, he grabbed his bar and lathered his body. In the beginning of their relationship, he had loved her trademark lavender scent. Now he hated it. Passionately.

Shower finished, he grabbed a thick terrycloth towel from the rack, briskly dried himself off, and tied the towel snuggly around his waist. As he leaned forward over the sink and rubbed the fog of steam off the mirror, he was stopped short by his reflection.

The handsome man with the thinning blond hair and ice blue eyes still looked pretty good despite the fact that his first thirty odd years hadn't been particularly kind to him. But, becoming a successful attorney was a highly competitive venture. It meant long hours, and late night meetings with potential clients, often in a bar where the drinks flowed freely or an expensive restaurant with the company picking up the tab. So, he'd put on a few extra pounds thanks to too much rich food and an over indulgence in alcohol.

Add to that already hectic work schedule a wife who insisted on living an extravagant lifestyle, and there just weren't enough hours left in the day for him to find time to spend on himself. But, even though he'd had to give up his morning jogs, his legs were still muscular and strong, and he didn't think the extra weight spoiled his athletic build.

The unnerving thing about looking into the mirror, though, was that while he recognized the face reflected back at him, he realized, sadly, that he no longer recognized the man. He shook his head and reached for his toothbrush. Who the hell was he now?

He quickly finished his morning routine and returned to the bedroom to dress for the day. No court appearances meant no need for a suit; so he chose a tan sports coat over a cream-colored pullover and neatly pressed khaki slacks. At least whoever he was now knew how to dress.

As he turned to leave the room, he looked back to where Vanessa lay on the bed, still curled up under the down comforter. She really was a beautiful woman. Her high cheekbones, swan neck, lithe build, and legs up to there led most people to assume that she was high fashion model. Hutch found that ironic since that was supposedly her burning ambition. Too bad her inside wasn't as beautiful as her outside. She not only had a sharp tongue, but also a nasty temper that flared at the slightest real or imagined provocation. Over the years Hutch had become adept at dodging flying plates and glassware. Keeping the cabinets stocked with dinnerware was an expensive proposition.

Hutch doubted that Vanessa had ever loved him, at least not in the way that he had once loved her. At any rate, whatever positive emotions they had once shared had died a painful death a long time ago. And now here they were, trapped in a loveless marriage because neither of them was willing to take the first step to end it. Sighing heavily, he quietly left the bedroom, careful as always not to awaken to the sleeping evil queen of the house.

He took the elevator down to the underground parking garage. Vanessa had insisted on having the condominium when they moved to Bay City, even though it was expensive and cost more than they could really afford. But, one way or the other, Vanessa always got what she wanted. Just like the newer model silver Corvette that was parked in her assigned space. He unlocked the door to his vehicle, an older model black Mustang. This baby might be 'past its prime' but, the leather seats were still in good condition and comfortable, and he had no trouble settling his lanky frame into the driver's seat. The temperamental engine coughed and sputtered for a few seconds before turning over; then he was on his way to the law office where he was a junior partner.

The law offices of Peterson and Marshall were housed in an older building in downtown Bay City. The firm wasn't as prestigious as the higher priced Beverly Hills firms, but they still had a lucrative business and represented some well-known clientele. While they handled all kinds of civil and criminal matters, Hutch's caseload fell into the latter category and consisted primarily of the firm's 'white collar' crimes such as forgery, embezzlement and fraud. Mostly boring, routine cases, but they paid the bills. Barely.

Once inside the building, Hutch headed directly for the stairs. Peterson and Marshall was located on the fifth floor, but since the elevator was in a constant state of repair, taking it wasn't an option. The five-story climb was the only exercise he got these days, so he didn't mind making it himself, but it irritated the hell out of him that his clients had to make it too.

The firm's three junior partners had small offices flanking a tiny space that served as their reception/waiting area. The desk in the middle of the area was manned by Amanda Gordon, a petite blue-eyed blonde who handled the secretarial duties for all three lawyers. As he approached his corner office (after all he _was_ the 'senior' junior partner), Hutch saw an older couple seated on the sofa by Amanda's desk. Their clothing suggested a lower middle class couple that worked hard for a living, not their usual clientele. The man held his hat in his hands and the woman was nervously twisting a hanky in hers. Hutch glanced at Amanda, one eyebrow raised.

"Good morning, Mr. Hutchinson." She said, smiling brightly and nodding toward the couple on the sofa, "This is Mr. and Mrs. Starsky. They'd like to speak with you regarding a personal matter."

Hutch smiled at them politely. "Of course. Please come into my office."

He ushered them into his office, closed the door, and gestured for them to have a seat. Smiling nervously, they settled into the two upholstered arm chairs facing Hutch's desk. He took his own seat and leaned forward across the desk, smiling encouragingly. New clients were often anxious during their visit, and Hutch did his best to put them at ease. He genuinely cared about his clients; that was what made him so good at his job.

"I'm Ken Hutchinson. How may I help you?"

"I'm Al Starsky, and this is my wife, Rose," the older man answered with a slight edge to his voice. "A mutual acquaintance recommended you. Sam Benedict."

"Yes, Sam and I went to college together" Hutch kept his conversation casual as he waited for the other men to state the reason for his visit. "How is he? I heard he became a cop."

"Yes, he did," Al nodded sharply and got right to the point, a trait greatly appreciated by his prospective attorney. "We need a lawyer to defend my nephew, David, and Sam said you'd be fair and do your best to clear David's name."

"Why does your nephew need a lawyer?" Hutch relaxed back into his chair, closely watching the couple's facial expressions and body language. There was a lot to be learned about a person just by observing their non-verbal cues.

"He's been arrested for murdering his ex-wife." Rose Starsky said, as she wiped at her eyes with the hanky she still clutched tightly in her hands. "But, he didn't do it."

Al put a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "David's a cop too. A homicide detective. Whoever really killed Kelly is trying to make it look like he did it." He looked at Hutch beseechingly. "We don't have a lot of money but, if you help David, I swear you _will_ get paid…one way or another."

Hutch hesitated. He had never defended someone accused of murder, but something in the older man's plea touched him. Hutch had always considered himself to be a good judge of character, and those instincts were telling him that this couple and their nephew needed his help.

"Suppose we start at the beginning," Hutch suggested. "Is there any evidence to suggest that your nephew is guilty, other than the fact that the victim is his ex-wife?"

"We don't know." Al said in a discouraged voice. "Nobody will tell us anything. They won't even let us see David."

"If he hasn't been arraigned yet, the police are within their legal rights to restrict any outside contact with the suspect." Hutch thought for a moment. "Tell me a little bit about David…and his wife."

"Ex-wife," Rose said pointedly. "They've been divorced for three months."

"I assume that it wasn't an amicable divorce."

"No, it wasn't," Al confirmed somberly as he perched on the edge of his chair. "They were fighting all the time at the end…sometimes it got violent…but Kelly was the aggressor, not David."

"Was there a previous history of domestic violence?" Hutch pulled a legal pad from a desk drawer and began to take notes.

"I don't know." Rose sniffed "We knew there were fights and we saw bruises on David's face and arm a few times but he always told us he had it under control. But, he did tell us that he thought Kelly was cheating on him, and it wasn't the first time that he had suspected her of having an affair."

"Who filed for the divorce?"

"David."

"On what grounds? Infidelity?"

"Irreconcilable differences," Al sighed heavily. "Kelly contested it and accused _David_ of infidelity. She also accused him of assaulting her during the marriage and told the court that she was afraid of him. The court issued a restraining order against David."

"So it was a pretty bitter divorce…" It was not a question but a mere statement of fact.

Yes," Al admitted reluctantly. "Kelly dragged David's name and reputation through the mud. She took everything she could get her hands on. Finally, David just gave in and let her have whatever she wanted. He just wanted it over with."

"How had things been between them since the divorce?"

"Kelly refused to leave him alone. She constantly called him in the middle of the night…she broke into his apartment while he was at work…she even told internal affairs that he has a drinking problem."

"Does he?"

"Not that we know of, but Kelly did. That was one of the reasons for the divorce."

"How was she murdered?"

Al's gaze dropped to study the pattern on the carpet, and his voice was soft. "She was beaten to death, and there were supposedly signs that she'd been raped,"

"Well, before I make a decision about taking the case, I'd like to make some phone calls and do some preliminary investigation into the case. I'd also like to talk to David in person. From what you've told me the police have strong circumstantial evidence implicating your nephew as the prime suspect."

"If you decide to take the case…can you help him?" Rose Starsky asked in a tearful voice.

"_If_ I take the case, I'll defend your nephew to the best of my ability." Hutch cautiously reassured her. He had learned early in his career not to make any rash promises. Sometimes the guiltiest appearing suspects turned out to be innocent and the suspects who looked so innocent turned out to be as guilty as sin.

He stood up bringing the meeting to a close, and held out his hand. The elderly couple also stood and Al firmly returned the handshake. Hutch escorted them to the door and then returned to his desk to consider his options.

He decided that his first order of business would be a phone call to his old college classmate, Same Benedict. Fifteen minutes after he asked Amanda to get Sam on the line, she put the call through to him.

"Ken, it's good to hear from you," Sam's voice boomed across the line. said in a boisterous voice. "I assume you're calling because Al and Rosie came to see you about David."

"That's right. What can you tell about the case?"

"Off the record? I think somebody's setting David up, and they're doing a damn good job of it."

"Why?"

"Why?" Sam chuckled. "You'd have to know David. He can get under your skin sometimes. But, he's a good cop…one of the best. He's made more than his share of enemies, just like the rest of us. And Kelly was a bitch." He hesitated slightly "Honestly, I'm surprised that something like this didn't happen long before now."

"But, you don't think that her ex-husband had anything to do with it?"

"No, I don't. Believe me; Kelly gave David more than enough reasons to knock her around. But he never touched her. Not once."

"Are you sure about that?" Hutch had to ask "Everybody has their breaking point."

"I'm sure. Like I said, you'd have to know David."

"Where's he being held? Downtown?"

"Yeah. Isolated from the other prisoners…one of the perks of being a cop. You gonna take the case?"

"I don't know yet. I want to talk to him first hear his side of things, see if the cops have anything besides circumstantial evidence against him."

"He needs somebody on his side or he's going to get railroaded into prison for sure. I don't want to see that happen. He's a good kid." Sam's voice grew solemn. "That bitch he was married to made his life hell when she was alive; it would be a shame if she could do the same even after she's dead." There was a soft click as Sam hung up disconnecting the call.

Hutch hung up and leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful sigh. A cop, a bitter divorce, a vindictive ex-wife, accusations of affairs and abuse. The case already intrigued him.

He left his office and paused beside Amanda's desk. "Cancel my appointments. I'll be out for the rest of the day."

"New case?" She asked with an inquisitive smile.

Hutch glanced at her over his shoulder as he headed for the stairway. "Maybe,"


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Jail is a dangerous place for any prisoner, but it can be deadly for an officer who has been arrested. The Bay City PD had special cells to house short-term prisoners or prisoners with special circumstances, including officers accused of a crime. For their own protection, such officers had limited contact with jail staff and were isolated from the other prisoners in a separate holding cell. These cells were located in the basement of the Bay City courthouse.

The uniformed officer working the front desk was a seriously overweight older man with a deeply lined face, watery blue eyes, and thin lips that looked like they seldom smiled. He glanced up at the sound of approaching footsteps and stuck his pencil behind his ear when he recognized Hutch.

"Who ya here to see, counselor?" He drawled in a bored, wheezy voice.

"David Starsky."

There was a brief flicker of surprise in the officer's eyed before he was able to regain his expression of bored indifference.

"You can use interview room A. I'll have someone bring him up for ya."

Hutch nodded and walked to his left down a short hallway that led to the private interview rooms used exclusively by attorneys and their clients. He entered room A and seated himself at the long table bolted to the floor in the middle of the room. He only had to wait a few minutes before the door opened and a guard entered, escorting a prisoner clad in a standard-issue orange jumpsuit. The guard sat the man in a chair, fastened his handcuffs to the eye-ring drilled in the table, and left the room.

Hutch did a quick appraisal of David Starsky. He appeared to be close to Hutch's age with a lean muscular build, an olive toned complexion and dark brown curly hair that brushed his collar in the back. His dark blue eyes were staring back across the table, and Hutch had to suppress a smile as Starsky sized him up.

"Who are you?" Starsky's voice had a distinctive accent, sort of a blend of both the west and east coasts.

"My name is Ken Hutchinson. I'm an attorney. Your aunt and uncle talked to me this morning about representing you."

"They can't afford some fancy lawyer like you."

"Mr. Starsky, I'm not here to talk about my fee. We can work something out if I decide to take your case."

Starsky snorted. "Why should you want to take my case? As far as everybody other than my aunt and uncle is concerned, I'm guilty."

"Are you?"

"Hell, no!" Starsky growled, his face twisting into a bitter scowl. "But, I don't expect you to believe that."

"Why not?"

"Why should you? Nobody else does. "

"Except your aunt and uncle." There was no response to this, and Hutch's voice took on a no-nonsense tone. "Look, we can sit here and play word games all day, or we can get down to business, and you can tell me your side of the story."

For a moment, Starsky just stared sullenly at the table; then he sighed. "What's to tell? My ex-wife is dead, and I was the last one to see her alive."

This guy had built a solid wall between himself and the world. Hutch shook his head. He was starting to see what Sam had meant about Starsky "getting under your skin".

"Okay, why don't we just start at the beginning? I'll ask the questions, and you answer them. Agreed?"

Starsky shrugged.

"Let's start with the basics. How did you meet your ex-wife?"

"At a bar. A place called The Pits. It's owned by a friend of mine. She came on to me and I figured, what the hell. I thought it was just gonna be another one night stand."

"How long did you know her before you got married?"

"Two months. She told me that she was pregnant." Starsky's voice took on a sharp, bitter tone. "Turned out she was lying. Big surprise. Kelly liked the idea of someone else making the money so she could go out and spend it."

"How long were you married?"

"Too long."

"How long is too long?"

"Two years, four months and twelve days."

"Why stay together that long if you didn't love her?"

"Because it's easier to get married than it is to get un-married,"

"What finally made you change your mind and file for a divorce?"

"Maybe I got tired of her screwing around with other guys or getting drunk and trying to use me for target practice." Starsky's voice took on a hard, annoyed edge.

"According to your aunt and uncle, she accused you of the same thing in the divorce, and the court issued a restraining order against you."

"Yeah, well…ya know how it is. The woman's always right and you're nothing but a piece of shit that did her wrong." This time there was no mistaking the bitterness and anger in that voice.

"You said that you were the last one to see her alive. When was that?"

"Around seven o'clock last night. We got into an argument because she wanted me to make her car payment, and that wasn't part of the divorce agreement."

"I take it that other people overheard this argument."

"Yeah, the whole damn bar," Starsky smiled thinly. "Kelly always liked to have an audience…especially if she could make me look like an asshole."

"So, what happened?"

"I left."

"Where did you go?"

"I drove around for a couple of hours and then I went home…alone. This morning two overzealous cops wake me up and tell me I'm under arrest for murdering Kelly."

"So you had a public argument with your ex-wife, in front of witnesses, and then went home alone.

"Yep."

"Can anyone verify that?"

"Nope."

Hutch's gaze drifted to the visible bruises and abrasions on the knuckles of Starsky's left hand. "What happened to your hand?" he asked pointedly.

"I punched a wall a couple of times,"

"Before or after the fight with your ex?"

"After," Starsky hissed, his eyes narrowing.

"Mr. Starsky, if you want me to represent you, you're going to have to trust me, and that means you're going to have to be honest with me."

Starsky rapped on the table with his fist. "Personally, I don't give a damn if you represent me or not, because it's not going to make a difference! No matter what I do, the outcome's the same: me on death row for something I didn't do!"

Hutch didn't react to the outburst. He had no doubt that he'd feel the same way if their roles were reversed. He kept his voice calm. "It's my job to make sure that doesn't happen…unless you really are guilty."

Both of Starsky's hands were now balled into fists, and his eyes bored holes into the attorney. "If you're going to represent me, _you're_ going to have to trust _me_."

Hutch nodded. "Your arraignment is scheduled for nine a.m. tomorrow morning. The prosecutor will argue against releasing you on bond, and I'll argue in your defense that you are a highly decorated police officer with significant ties to the community. If the judge decides in our favor and sets bond, it will probably be an outrageous amount that nobody expects you to be able to meet."

"So, either way…I'm still fucked." Starsky's thin smile never made it to his eyes.

"Let's just see what happens tomorrow." Hutch suggested. He signaled that the session was over and stepped out of the room as the guard stepped in.

Hutch left the jail and drove to the Metropolitan Division of the Bay City Police Department. He wanted to meet with David's partner, John Blaine, before calling it a day.

The homicide department was on the sixth floor of the building. The squad room was crowded and chaotic. Loud voices, ringing telephones, cigarette smoke and an occasional obscenity colored the air.

John Blaine was several years older than Hutch, and had a rugged face, closely trimmed brown hair, alert blue eyes that constantly surveyed his surroundings and a few extra pounds around the middle. He was dressed in a conservative dark gray suit with a white shirt and a striped tie.

Hutch introduced himself and shook the detective's hand. "Thank you for taking the time to see me."

"Anything for Davy," Blaine said with a smile. "That kid attracts trouble like a dog attracts fleas, but he didn't kill Kelly. I'd stake my badge on that."

"How long have you and David been partners?"

"Since he made detective five years ago, but I've known him since he was sixteen. My wife and I used to live next door to Rosie and Al, and we sort of became surrogate parents for the kid."

"So, it sounds like you know him pretty well."

"As well as anybody can, I guess."

"Meaning?"

"Davy's a good kid. He really is. He's had a hard life. He was shipped out here after his dad, who was a cop, got shot down in front of him. He was an angry, rebellious kid with a chip on his shoulder, a bad attitude and a smart mouth. He had to grow up faster than any kid should ever have to. He got his education on the streets…and in the jungles of 'Nam."

"So, what changed? What made him turn things around and decide to become a cop?"

"His dad. He always wanted to be just like his dad. So, I kinda took him under my wing…helped him see that he was heading down the wrong path if he wanted to follow in his dad's footsteps. 'Course getting sent to 'Nam when he was 18 made him grow up in a hell of a hurry too."

"I bet," Hutch had not served in the military. A college deferment and his father's money and influence had seen to that. "Did you know his wife?"

"Yeah, I knew her," Blaine sneered. "She was a real piece of work. Out for whatever she could get and to hell with anybody who tried to get in her way. I told Davy she was bad news and that he should stay away from her."

"But, he didn't take your advice."

"No…the kid has a stubborn streak a mile wide. And Kelly was real good at pulling the wool over a man's eyes until she had him hooked."

"So why did she settle for a street cop? It couldn't have been for the money or the prestige."

"Kelly was a cop groupie. And Davy can be a real charmer when he wants to be."

"He said she tricked him into marrying her by telling him she was pregnant."

"Yeah, one of the oldest tricks in the book, and Davy fell for it."

"Why marry her? Why not just agree to support the baby without putting a ring on her finger?"

"Because Davy's a decent man. A good man. He wanted to do right if the kid was his. He wanted to be that baby's father and make sure that it was raised in a good home with two parents."

"It must have really hurt when he found out she lied about it,"

"Hurt? Davy was devastated. That's when the marriage fell apart beyond repair. He wanted a divorce then, but Kelly refused. She convinced him that they could make it work if they tried."

"So what changed?"

"Kelly being Kelly. She liked to drink, party, run around…and if Davy wouldn't go with her, she'd go it by herself. Before long, they were living under the same roof but doing their own thing."

"I heard that she didn't take it very well when he finally filed for a divorce."

"Not at all. She went for his throat and she'd didn't stop till she drew blood. She walked away with all the money in his bank account, his new car, and four hundred a month in spousal support for the next five years. And that still wasn't enough to satisfy her. She did everything she could to ruin him."

"In what way?"

"She accused him of screwing around on her, beating her up, and being a drunk." The bitterness in Blaine's voice was heavy. "All the things she was doing herself…" He sighed. "It was bad…really bad. Anybody who knew Davy knew that it wasn't true, but there were still some people who took Kelly's side." He frowned and looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing, "Even after the divorce was final and she took everything she could get, she just wouldn't leave Davy alone. She broke into his apartment…trashed it…broke out the windshield on his car. He finally had to file charges against her to get her to back off."

Hutch chose his words carefully. "Sounds like he had more than enough reasons to want her out of his life for good."

"But, he still wouldn't have killed her," Blaine said with conviction. "No matter how far she pushed him, murdering her in cold blood is not in Davy's nature."

"It's still my job to prove it." Hutch shook his head. "It could go either way. We both know how the system works. Men have been sent to death row on less circumstantial evidence than what they have against your partner."

"Don't let him push you away," Blaine said quietly. "Davy needs somebody like you on his side."

"I'll do my best," Hutch promised as he shook Blaine's hand once more.

Hutch drove home through rush hour traffic. The more he heard about David Starsky and his ex-wife, the more cynical he became. The very nature of the relationship between the battling ex's gave Starsky more than enough reason to murder his ex-wife. The only defense he had was that it could also have given someone else a motive to kill her if she was behaving the same way with them. Everyone seemed to agree that she was screwing around with other men; so maybe she tried to con the wrong one, and he decided to get even; or maybe it was something as simple as a lovers' quarrel gone terribly wrong. Hutch needed to do a lot more investigating before this case went to trial. And he needed to hear both sides of the story. That meant talking to people who had known Kelly Starsky personally.

He arrived back at the condominium shortly after seven in the evening. Vanessa blatantly ignored his arrival. She had eaten out, and was now curled up in a chair reading a trashy tabloid. Hutch rummaged around as he prepared himself a light meal. Over the years, he had learned to cook out of necessity, since Van couldn't boil water without burning it. Over the last few months they had both fallen into the routine of eating their meals alone. It was just another nail in the coffin of their marriage.

Still ignoring him, Vanessa finished her reading, and in one graceful, fluid motion, tossed the tabloid aside, rose from her chair, and disappeared into their bedroom. Hutch sighed heavily as she closed the door behind her, and he sat down at the table to eat. Everyday they seemed to drift farther and farther apart. How much longer they could hold on to a marriage that was no longer a real marriage, but only a sham?


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

The next morning instead of going straight to work, Hutch drove to the suburbs where Kelly Starsky had lived. The tiny one story house seemed a sharp contrast to the 'party girl' image that most people seemed to associate with the murdered woman. His knock on the door was answered by a mousy looking woman with short brown hair and dark rimmed glasses. She was dressed in a shapeless gray sweatshirt and a pair of baggy blue jeans.

"Who are you?" she asked in a nasal voice as she peered at Hutch through the partially opened door.

"Ken Hutchinson. I'd like to ask you a few questions about Kelly Starsky."

"Kelly Abbott," the woman corrected him sharply. "She took back her maiden name after the divorce. You a cop?"

"No, I'm a lawyer. How well did you know Miss Abbott?"

"She was my cousin. She needed a place to live after Dave kicked her out, and I told her she could stay here."

"And your name is?

"Susan. Susan Snyder."

"May I come in and talk to you for a few minutes?"

Susan was indifferent. "I guess you might as well. Since you're already here."

She stepped aside and let him into a dimly lit room that smelled of stale cigarette smoke and cat urine. Old newspapers and trash littered the tiny room. The entire house gave Hutch a claustrophobic feeling that put him on edge.

"You wanna sit down?" She gestured to a threadbare sofa covered with cat hair.

"No, thank you. I won't take up that much of your time."

"Suit yourself." She shrugged her thin shoulders as she picked up a pack of unfiltered cigarettes from the coffee table, and shook one loose. She offered it to Hutch, but he shook his head.

"No, thanks. I don't smoke."

She shrugged again, flipped open a Zippo lighter and took a deep drag as the tip of the cigarette flared.

"When was the last time you saw your cousin?" Hutch asked, resisting the urge to wave away the large plume of smoke she exhaled in his direction.

"I don't know. Three or four days ago. She pretty much came and went as she pleased."

"Weren't you worried when you didn't hear from her for a few days?"

"I figured she met somebody and was shacked up with them for a few days." She took another drag from the cigarette, but this time blew the smoke over her shoulder.

"So her lifestyle didn't bother you?"

"Why should it. If she wanted to slut around that was her business, not mine.

As long as she paid me what we agreed on each month, why should I care what she did?"

"How well did the two of you get along?"

"Okay. She didn't bother me and I didn't bother her."

"Did you know her ex-husband?"

"I met him once or twice. He seemed like a nice enough guy. Too nice for the likes of Kelly but he still shouldn't have killed her."

"What makes you so sure that he did?"

"Because Kelly treated him like shit," she said, flicking cigarette ashes in the general direction of an ashtray. "And because she told me once that he threatened her all the time, usually when they were fighting over money."

"Did you ever _hear_ him threaten her?"

"No, I was never around them that much when they were a couple." She smiled thinly "But, I overheard enough of their fights on the phone after Kelly moved in here."

"Can you think of anyone else that might have had a motive for hurting your cousin?"

"We didn't have that much in common. I had my friends and she had hers."

"Okay, I think those are all the questions I have for now. I'll be in touch if I need anything else. Thank you for your time."

"Whatever." Susan had obviously become bored with the conversation "But, if you wanna talk to somebody who really knew Kelly, you should talk to her best friend, Amber Wilkes."

"Do you know where I can find her?"

"Sure, she's a dancer at a club downtown called _Ruby's Lounge_. She dances every night from nine till two."

"Thank you. You've been very helpful." Hutch nodded politely and showed himself out.

Grateful to be out of the stifling atmosphere inside the little house, he took a deep breath of clear, fresh air as he walked to his car. Since it was too early to talk to Amber Wilkes, he decided to pay a visit to Al and Rose Starsky.

The Starskys lived in a lower middle class neighborhood of single story brick homes with two car garages. Located at the end of a cul-de-sac, their bungalow had well-kept lawn and rose bushes growing alongside the front of the house.

Hutch's knock was quickly answered by Rose Starsky. If she was surprised to see him standing on her front stoop, she didn't let it show.

"Mr. Hutchinson," she said graciously "Please come in." She led him into a comfortable living room and gestured towards a sofa which faced a large picture window overlooking the street. "Please have a seat. I'll let Al know that you're here."

Hutch smiled his thanks and surveyed his surroundings while Rose went to another part of the house to get her husband. This room was a stark contrast to the one in Susan Snyder's home. The furnishings here were inexpensive but well cared for, and the walls were painted a pale beige with white accents. Among groups of pictures on the walls were several that appeared to be of a younger David Starsky, both as a teenager and as a rookie police officer posing proudly in his new uniform.

Hutch was distracted and didn't realize that Rose and Al had returned until Rose spoke. "Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Hutchinson? Coffee? Juice? A soda?"

"No, thank you," Hutch said politely "And please…call me Ken."

"Have you decided to take David's case?" Al asked gruffly bypassing the small talk and again getting right to the point.

"Yes, I have. I think all the evidence they have against him is circumstantial and I don't want to see him railroaded into prison because of inadequate representation."

"Oh, thank you!" Rose gushed happily "Thank you so much!" she flashed a relieved smile at her equally grateful husband.

'The arraignment is scheduled for three o'clock this afternoon and I assume that the two of you will be there."

"You better believe we will," Al said firmly. "That boy has lived with us since he was thirteen years old and we're not about to turn our backs on him now."

"Does David have any other family here in Bay City?"

"No." Rose shook her head. "His mother and younger brother both live back in New York. Brooklyn to be exact. His father was a cop too. He was killed when David was twelve. That's why his mother sent him out here to live with us. She was afraid that he'd get in trouble without a man's influence in his life."

"Rosie and I were never blessed with children of our own," Al added. "So David's been like a son to us."

Hutch nodded. Now that he took a closer look at Al, he could see the strong family resemblance. He had the same rugged features and deep blue eyes as his nephew. And, even though Al wore his hair cut short, there was a hint of the same unruly curls in the brown strands that were liberally interwoven with gray.

"He's lucky to have you," Hutch said, thinking about his own strained relationship with his parents. He had been raised in a cold, sterile environment that had produced a reserved and socially withdrawn adult. "I wish all of my clients had the same support that David seems to have."

"You don't turn your back on somebody you love," Rose said with a tilt of her chin.

"Thank you for stopping by to let us know you're taking the case," Al put an arm around his wife's shoulders. "We want the best for David…no matter what it costs."

"We can talk about that later," Hutch said, smiling warmly in an effort to put the elderly couple at ease.

Hutch left the Starsky home and drove to his office. He spent most of the day catching up on some paperwork and returning some phone calls; routine tasks that required little effort on his part. He was in the middle of updating a file on a closed case when Richard Peterson, one of the firm's senior partners, entered his office.

"I heard you've got a new client." Richard's voice was nonchalant as he glanced around the office.

Hutch looked away from the file in front of him and turned a deliberate eye on his boss, who was just as deliberately avoiding eye contact with him. "That's right."

Reluctantly, Richard met Hutch's steady gaze. "Don't you think you should have discussed it with one of us before doing something so rash?" He hated it that he could so often be intimidated by this young upstart.

"The last time I looked, I was free to pick and choose my own clients." Hutch said pointedly. "When did I start needing your approval?"

"You know this isn't the type of case this firm normally represents."

"Why? Because the accused is a cop, and that's not impressive enough for you?"

"Because it's obvious that he's guilty, and you'd just be wasting your time and this firm's money."

"So since you've already passed judgment on him, he doesn't deserve adequate representation?"

"I didn't say that." Richard's voice was suddenly stern. Maybe upstart was too kind of a word for this kid. "I'm just saying that you might want to reconsider your decision. There's no reason to put your own career in jeopardy by taking on a case that you can't win."

"That remains to be seen, doesn't it?" Hutch kept his voice tightly controlled. He had known that the senior partners might not be pleased with him for taking the case, but he felt that he had enough seniority of his own to warrant taking risks. He had specialized in criminal law when he was in law school, but instead of following his own dreams, he had allowed Vanessa and his family to pressure him into joining a more prestigious law firm when he graduated. "And I'm taking the case pro bono so the firm won't be losing any money."

"Have it your way," While Richard was obviously not pleased with Hutch's decision, he was also unwilling to confront him about it any further. "Just don't expect this firm to come to your rescue when this case blows up in your face." And with that, he left the office.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

"Your honor, the defendant murdered his ex-wife in cold blood after a very public argument in front of several witnesses." The prosecutor presented his argument to the judge passionately. "He presents a continued danger to the community, and therefore he should remain in detention until trial."

"Your honor," Hutch cut in smoothly "_Detective_ Starsky is a highly decorated member of the Bay City Police Department. He has substantial ties to the community and strong family support. The evidence against him is completely circumstantial, and it is our contention that he does not pose a flight risk or a threat to the community. Therefore, we would ask the court that he be released on his own recognizance until his trial."

A heavy silence filled the courtroom for several minutes as the judge pondered both sides of the argument. Finally, he gazed out over the crowd that filled the large room and said in a gruff tone, "While it is true that the evidence in this case is largely circumstantial, the fact remains that Detective Starsky was the last person to see the victim alive. It is also a fact that the victim and the defendant shared a volatile relationship with a great deal of animosity on both sides." He fixed Starsky with a hard stare that bordered on contempt. "And, while it is also true that Detective Starsky is a highly decorated member of this city's police department, the fact that he is a police officer means that he should be held to a higher standard of conduct than the average citizen of this community. Therefore, it is the order of this court that bond shall be set at fifty thousand dollars."

A sharp rap of his gavel signaled the end of the hearing. Everyone stood in silence until the judge had left the room.

Starsky kept a neutral expression on his face as the bailiff took his arm to lead him away. Before leaving the room, he glanced back briefly at his aunt and uncle. A muscle tightened in his jaw, the only sign of his own inner turmoil, as his aunt's quiet sobs could be heard in the background. Hutch gathered up the papers lying on the table and put them in his briefcase. Snapping it shut, he turned to face Al and Rose Starsky as Starsky left the room.

"What happens now?" Al asked pulling Rose close as his eyes searched Hutch's face for an answer.

"Unless David can make bail, he'll have to stay in jail until the trial."

"That could be weeks! You can't leave him in that place!" The distress in Rose's voice could be heard by everyone remaining in the courtroom.

"Shhh," Al soothed her gently. He looked at Hutch, his gaze clearly conveying his displeasure at the judge's decision. "We'll figure something out."

"I'm sorry, but I warned you that this would probably happen," Hutch reminded them. He had never lied to the people he represented, and he wasn't about to start now. He tried not to mislead his clients about their chances in court, and that was one of the reasons they trusted him. "I have another appointment I need to get to but, I'll be in touch." The elderly couple remained standing, comforting each other, as Hutch left the courtroom.

After a brief meeting with a client to discuss the progress being made on their case, Hutch left the office and drove home. He had more than enough time to eat and change clothes before going to _Ruby's Lounge_ to talk to Amber Wilkes.

The apartment was empty; Van had obviously gone out for the evening. Hutch felt strangely relieved. He wasn't up to another fight with Vanessa. Not tonight. He knew it couldn't be a good sign that he found himself looking forward to spending a few hours alone instead of in his wife's company. He fixed a solitary meal and ate it in silence, standing alone at the counter.

After a quick shower, he changed into a pair of jeans and a tee shirt so he wouldn't stand out when he went to the strip club. As he glanced around the bedroom, he suddenly realized how little of himself was reflected in this room. From the satin sheets to the color scheme, it all reflected Van's taste and personality, not his own. He grabbed a light jacket and left the apartment. He needed to breathe and he couldn't do it in the cold, sterile apartment.

He drove aimlessly through the crowded city streets until it was time to go the strip club. The atmosphere inside _Ruby's Lounge _was identical to every other strip club in the city:

dim lights, loud music, noise and smoke; waitresses dressed in low-cut blouses and short skirts that barely covered the essential parts. Women wearing pasties and g-strings gyrated on raised platforms strategically placed around a room filled with horny men looking for a cheap thrill and hoping to cop a feel now and then.

Hutch found an empty table in a far corner of the room and sat down. A waitress who barely looked old enough to be out of high school walked over to his table with an exaggerated swing of her hips and a flirtatious smile on her face.

"What can I get you tonight, handsome?"

"Draft beer." Hutch told her, ignoring her not-so subtle attempts at seduction. He had become accustomed to women of all ages, and a fair share of men, too, coming on to him because of his good looks, but it hadn't always been that way. In high school, he had been a painfully shy teenager with braces and thick, dark rimmed glasses. He had come into his own in college, though, discarding the glasses for contacts and gaining a new confidence and independence as he changed his outward appearance. But, even now, traces of that shy, gangly adolescent still lingered.

"Is that all you want?" she asked in a deep, sultry voice with something close to a leer on her face.

"Is Amber working tonight?"

The girl gave him a pouty, disappointed look before she turned to walk away. With a toss of her hair, she glanced back at him over her shoulder. "She's the skanky redhead at the other end of the bar."

Hutch turned his attention to the woman in question. She was older than most of the other dancers, with dark red hair that hadn't been combed in a while and a body that bordered on emaciated. She had obviously had a boob job that had left her breasts far too heavy for her slender frame. She moved lethargically to the beat of the music, either bored or stoned, indifferent to her surroundings.

Two beers later, the redhead left her perch and headed towards a curtain at the far end of the bar. Hutch bounced to his feet and moved to intercept her before she disappeared into the back.

"Amber Wilkes?"

She paused and slowly ran her eyes up and down Hutch's long, lean frame. She smiled brightly, obviously pleased with what she saw. "Hey, what can I do for you, handsome? How about a private dance?"

"Maybe some other time. I'd like to ask you some questions about Kelly Starsky. I'm told that she was a friend of yours."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You a cop?"

"No," He chuckled softly to put her at ease. "I'm an attorney."

"That's almost as bad," she sniffed. "Why are you interested in Kelly?"

""Is there some place more private where we can talk?"

"Why are you interested in Kelly?" she repeated

"I'm representing her husband."

Amber seemed to consider that for several seconds before shrugging her shoulders and pushing open the curtain, obviously intending for Hutch to follow her. She led the way down a long hallway with rooms on either side. Some of the doors were open, while others were closed, but most appeared to be occupied in one way or another. Amber walked into the last room on the left, closing the door behind them. Turning to Hutch, she said,

"Thirty bucks gets you fifteen minutes."

Reaching into his side pocket, Hutch pulled out some bills and handed her two twenties. She tucked them into her G-string.

"Okay, it's your dime. What do you want to know?"

"How well did you know Kelly Starsky?"

"We grew up together, went to high school together, got fucked by the same guy when we were eighteen. We came out here to be _stars..." _Amber snorted. "Instead I ended up dancing in this dump, and Kelly hooked up with a cop who ended up killing her. End of story."

"Where's home?"

"Phillips, Nebraska. Population 2,500 and most of them assholes."

"Does Kelly have any family back there?"

"Nope. Her Dad died when she was little, and her brother's in prison for shooting his girlfriend after he caught her in bed with his best friend. Nobody knows what happened to her ma. Kelly and her brother grew up in a foster home with a bunch of other kids that nobody wanted."

"I've been told that Kelly got around, that she liked to party."

"So? What's wrong with that? It's not her fault she ended up with a guy that wanted her to stay home and be a good little wifey."

"Did you ever meet him?"

"David? Sure. He was a nice guy. He deserved better than Kelly. I'd have fucked him in a heartbeat if I'd ever got the chance. Too bad he was sort of a prude when it came to things like marriage and fidelity and all that bullshit."

"Even if Kelly didn't feel the same way he did about their marriage?"

"Hell, they didn't feel the same way about anything. Kelly was just good at putting on a show until she got that ring on her hand."

"Did you ever see him hit her?"

"No, but she sure hit him enough times. Even tried to shoot him once with his own gun."

"Sounds like she had quite a temper."

"You could say that."

"Do you think he killed her?"

"Who knows? Who cares?" She sounded bored. She was obviously losing interest in the conversation. "I'm surprised something like this didn't happen to her sooner."

"What makes you say that?"

"Let's just say that Kelly wasn't that selective about the men she fucked." She cast an indifferent glance at the clock on the wall. "Time's up. Unless you'd like to spend a little quality time together…" she brushed up against him suggestively as she slipped her fingers under the waistband of his jeans.

"No, thanks, I don't think so," He stepped back out of her reach, hoping his smile would take the sting out of his refusal.

She shrugged, unruffled by his dismissal. "Too bad…I might have even let you have it for free. You know where to find me if you ever change your mind."

Hutch left the club and slowly drove back to his apartment. Van was still out, so he undressed and went to bed alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**I apologize for the delay in posting but I've been in bed sick since Friday. Today is the first day I felt well enough to go on-line**

**CHAPTER 5**

Hutch awoke the next morning to the sound of Vanessa hissing in his ear. "Where were you last night, lover? You smell like a brewery."

"I could ask you the same question," he said as he slowly levered himself out of the bed and past his irate spouse. "I went to bed at midnight and you still weren't home."

"It's none of your business where I was," Vanessa said in a haughty tone. "You were obviously out doing the same thing."

"I was working," Hutch snapped. He was in no mood for a fight. A nagging pain behind his right eye foretold of an approaching headache. He swallowed back the sour taste in his mouth, wondering if he had any antacids left in his desk. He should own stock in Rolaids, considering the number of bottles he went through in a month.

"Well, then, I was working too," Van sneered with a toss of her hair. As usual, she had to get in the last word. She sauntered out of the bedroom, leaving him to get dressed for the day.

Vanessa ignored him as he passed her on his way to the kitchen. It occurred to him that maybe it was time to have a serious talk with her about the sham that their marriage had become. But, it would have to wait until after this case was resolved. When he was working, his cases demanded his full attention leaving little time for anything else, including a private life.

At the office most of Hutch's morning was spent catching up on paperwork. Just before noon, he received an unexpected visit from Al Starsky.

"Rose and I talked to the bank, and we want to put our house up as collateral for Davy's bail."

"Are you sure about that?" Hutch asked cautiously. "You know if he runs or forfeits the bond in any way, you could lose your home."

"Davy wouldn't run!"

Al's indignant tone and angry glare warned Hutch that there would be no changing the older man's mind. He nodded. "Then meet me at the courthouse at one o'clock. I'll give a bail bondsman I know a call and have him meet us there to take care of the paperwork."

"How long will it take to get Davy out of there?"

"He should be out in time for supper."

"We'll see you at the courthouse at one."

Hutch frowned as he watched Al leave the office, cross the waiting room and disappear down the stairwell. It was suddenly disturbingly clear to him that he was becoming personally involved in this case, a violation of one of the most important rules of his profession. He sighed and tried to turn his attention back to the paperwork on the desk in front of him, but he found himself unable to concentrate on any of it. All he could think about was why David, Al and Rose Starsky had become so important to him, and he could find no obvious answer. Finally, he shoved the files aside and stood up. On the way out, he told Amanda that he would be out of the office for the rest of the day.

He drove through the downtown traffic to the courthouse where he met with Al and Rose to file the paperwork that would release their nephew. After carefully reviewing the bond restrictions with them, he decided it was too late for lunch, so he drove back to his apartment.

Van wasn't home, but he hadn't really expected her to be. She spent most days downtown trying to break into the world of high fashion modeling. She wasn't satisfied just doing magazine ads or being window dressing for the grand opening of the newest mall. She wanted the fame and admiration (not to mention the money) that went with the high end fashion world.

He changed into a pair of worn sweats that he'd had since his college days and tried to clear his mind. It had been far too long since he had taken an afternoon just for himself. He was puttering around in the kitchen, trying to decide if he wanted to fix something for himself or just call for take out, when a loud pounding on the front door startled him.

He opened the door to find himself looking into the angry glare of an obviously agitated David Starsky.

"How could you let my aunt and uncle put up their house just to get me out of jail?" Starsky demanded in a loud voice.

Hutch noticed his neighbor across the way peeking out from behind her door. He smiled and said, "It's all right, Mrs. Gardner. We didn't mean to disturb you."

"As long as you're sure there's not a problem," the elderly woman sniffed, keeping a watchful eye on Starsky. "I can call the police if this ruffian is bothering you."

"No, that's quite all right." Hutch reached out and grabbed Starsky's arm, pulling him into the apartment so he could close the door and give them some degree of privacy.

Hutch turned to face a furious Starsky. "It was their decision." He replied calmly hoping to defuse the other man's anger. "I had nothing to do with it."

"Don't hand me that crap!" Starsky growled "You should have talked them out of it! That house is all they have! I'm not going to let them lose it!"

"Then I guess I don't have to worry about you skipping town, do I?" Hutch looked closely at Starsky's face, carefully noting the fresh bruise around his eye and the cut on his left cheekbone. "What happened to you?"

"I ran into a door." Starsky sneered without elaborating further. He began to pace the confines of the living room reminding Hutch of a tiger pacing the confines of its cage.

"I bet that happens a lot in jail."

A couple of minutes of pacing seemed to take the edge off Starsky's agitation and he slumped down onto the sofa. But the rigid set of his shoulders and the wary look in his eyes told Hutch that he was poised to spring into action immediately, if needed.

"How did you find out where I live?" Hutch asked when it seemed that Starsky's temper had cooled.

"I'm a cop," he smiled thinly. "I have my ways."

"Your aunt and uncle obviously care about you very much."

"Too much for their own good sometimes," Starsky said softly, momentarily letting down his guard. His tone was a bit defensive, and he sat up straighter. "I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for them."

"Just between the two of us…what do you think happened to your ex-wife?"

"I think she finally fucked with the wrong guy and paid for it with her life."

"Any idea who that wrong guy might have been?"

"Nope. It could have been anyone. She got around."

"So I've heard. Where are you staying in case I need to get in touch with you?"

"At my place. You got a problem with that?"

"No, not as long as I know where you are."

"Is that your way of telling me to get the fuck out?" Starsky asked, his smile not quite so forced.

"No," Hutch said with a smile of his own. "But, it's been a long day, and I'm sure that you're looking forward to a night in your own bed."

"You got that right," Starsky agreed with a chuckle. "And a deluxe pizza with a nice cold beer."

"Sounds good to me." Hutch paused for a moment, then added, "As a matter of fact I haven't eaten yet, and I know a terrific place just around the corner. Would you like to join me? My treat."

"Sure, why not? It's not everyday that some big shot attorney offers to buy me a meal."

The two men left the building and walked around the corner to a neighborhood bar called _The Pits. _The owner was a former client with whom Hutch had remained friends after the case was over. Unfortunately, Vanessa's opinion that the bar was a "dive" and therefore beneath him, had kept him from keeping in touch the way he would have liked.

The inside of the bar was dimly lit, and the air was filled with smoke, tobacco and otherwise. Two well endowed waitresses were waiting on customers sitting at booths lining two of the walls and small tables scattered throughout the middle of the room. A tall thin black man was behind the bar, serving drinks and calling out orders as they became ready.

Starsky and Hutch sat on two empty stools at the end of the bar. The bartender ambled their way, greeting Hutch with a huge smile. "Hey, counselor. How's it hanging?" Intelligent brown eyes swept over Starsky and then glanced back at Hutch. "Who's your friend?"

Hutch raised his hand, pretending to shade his eyes against the glare of the black man's bright yellow shirt and red pants. "Damn, Hug…I forgot my shades!" He cracked a smile as he nodded at his companion, "This is David Starsky, and we're both hungry. How about two of your specials and two drafts?"

"Coming right up,"

"That's the owner of this joint" Hutch told Starsky as the black man walked away to place their order. "His name's Huggy Bear."

"Colorful," Starsky said with a straight face even though a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Is the food really any good?"

"You can be the judge of that. Just don't let Huggy hear you putting down his fine cuisine."

Huggy walked back over to their end of the bar and set a frosted mug in front of each man. He turned to tend to his other customers, leaving the two men to talk between themselves.

Starsky took a long swallow of beer and set the glass down on the bar. "You know Al and Rose don't have the money to pay your big shot attorney fee. Why are you doing this?"

"Call it my good deed for the day." Hutch shifted uncomfortably on the bar stool. Hadn't he been asking himself that same question all afternoon? He shook his head slightly. "Maybe I just don't want to see you get screwed simply because you can't afford adequate representation."

"How do you know what I can and can't afford? My aunt and uncle are the ones who hired you, and they can't afford you."

"And, as I told them, I'm taking this case pro bono. They won't have to pay me a cent."

"Same question." Starsky fixed Hutch with a solid stare. "Why?"

It took everything Hutch had to be able to pull his gaze away. He'd never before had a client question his motives and it unnerved him. He hoped his voice wouldn't give that away. "Look, I'm doing it because I want to. Okay?"

"Okay." Starsky surprised Hutch by shrugging his shoulders and looking back to his beer. "Just do me a favor and make sure Al and Rose don't get screwed."

"I'll do my best. I promise."

The two men spent the next two hours enjoying a good meal and taking the first tentative steps towards getting to know each other. It was eight o'clock in the evening when they parted ways. Hutch returned to his apartment to find a fuming Vanessa waiting for him.

"Where the hell were you this time?" she yelled as soon as he walked in the door.

"If you must know, I was meeting with a client. I took him out for a bite to eat."

"Where? At that dump around the corner that you like so much?"

'It's not a dump…and yes, that's where we were." Hutch walked past her and into the bedroom, shutting the bathroom door on her angry tirade. He sighed heavily as he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. He turned on the water, adjusting the temperature to a comfortable level, and leaned his palms against the tiled wall, letting the heat of the water wash away the tension in his body. He knew tonight would be another night that he would be spending on the couch.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

John Blaine was relaxing after work while his wife, Maggie, prepared supper. He was reading the evening newspaper when a knock at the front door distracted him. "I'll get it," He called out as he shoved himself to his feet and detoured to the front door. He opened the door to find Starsky standing on the front stoop.

"Hey, kid," he greeted the younger man with a warm smile. "I heard you made bail." He was genuinely pleased to see his younger protégé. He knew that Starsky had been released from jail the day before and he had been expecting him to stop by. Blaine noticed the fading bruise but didn't mention it as he stepped to one side of the door in an unspoken invitation.

"Yeah, thanks to Al and Rosie." Starsky had spent a large part of his adolescence in this house and was confident of his welcome. Blaine closed the door as the brunet stepped inside.

"You didn't really expect them to let you sit in there if they could help it, did you?" Blaine snorted as the two men walked through the house to the large, homey kitchen.

"No, I guess not," Starsky trailed behind his mentor through the archway into the other room where Maggie smiled at him and gave him a heartfelt hug.

"Oh, honey, I'm so glad to see you! You're just in time for supper. It's your favorite…fried chicken."

"Sounds great," Starsky said with a lop-sided grin as the two men took seats at the table. "I'm starving."

John chuckled "What else is new?" Starsky's ravenous appetite was a long standing joke between the two men. He seemed to eat constantly but never seemed to gain any extra weight on his lean, muscular frame. "I checked to your big city lawyer. He seems have a pretty good track record when it comes to winning his cases."

"I have a feeling that I'm going to need all the luck I can get to get out of this."

"Well, you know that I'm on your side," John picked a piece of chicken and passed the platter to Starsky. "I know you didn't kill her."

"Yeah, well that makes two of us. Somebody went to a hell of a lot of trouble to make sure it looked like I did."

"I'm sure everything will work out," Maggie said as she picked out her chicken and sat the platter back on the table. "How are Rose and Al holding up?"

"As well as can be expected I guess."

"They must be so worried," Maggie said "I know that we were."

"Yeah, just like old times…bailing me out of trouble like they used to when I was a kid." To soothe his emotional turmoil, Starsky had needed to touch base with someone he trusted but he didn't want to burden his aunt and uncle anymore than he already had. Like Rosie and Al, he knew that Maggie and John would be unfaltering in their unconditional support.

"They're good people," Blaine said sagely. "You're lucky to have them."

"Don't you think I know that?" Starsky said a bit tensely. He immediately felt ashamed of himself and offered an apology. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that."

"I know. No offense taken," John told him. "Did you see anybody, talk to anybody, after you left Kelly that night? Anybody at all?"

Starsky shook his head ruefully. "Didn't know I was gonna need an alibi."

"That's why they say hindsight is twenty-twenty." Blaine tried to keep his professional life separate from his home life but that wasn't always possible. Especially when the case hit so close to home. Maggie and John had never been blessed with children of their own and the curly haired hellion with a chip on his shoulder had become their surrogate son over the years. "You know as well as I do that the smallest thing…something that didn't even seem to be important at the time…could be what solves the case."

"Yeah, I know." Starsky said in a frustrated tone. "I've gone over that night in my head again and again…but nothing stands out."

"What did the two of you fight about?'

"Money. What else?" Starsky snorted "She wanted me to pay her car payment and that wasn't part of the divorce agreement." He frowned, lost in thought momentarily. "I think that was just an excuse to start a fight. You know how Kelly was."

"Hmmm…and she made sure to do it in a public place with plenty of witnesses." Blaine pointed out. "Do you think she could have been setting you up for something?"

"Who the hell knows?" Starsky said in a weary voice. "Kelly was capable of anything. You know that."

"That's true. We can talk about this later," Blaine suggested as he continued to eat his meal. "Maybe you'll remember something."

They finished their meal, making an effort to keep their conversation casual and light. After a dessert of homemade apple pie with whipped cream, Starsky said his goodbyes and left but, not until Maggie insisted that he take the rest of the pie with him for later.

It was a warm night with a mild breeze from the west. The tang of the ocean could be smelt in the air and the moon was brighter than usual. If his mind hadn't been on other things, Starsky would have been tempted to take a long drive along the coast. Instead, he headed for home. It had been a long day and he was ready for a good night's sleep in his own bed.

Starsky lived on a quiet residential street in one of the canyons that surrounded the city. The isolated location and seclusion provided suited his need for solitude while the connivance of having an all night market and small strip mall less than a ten minute drive away appealed to the city boy ingrained in his nature.

His apartment had been built at the end of a cul-de-sac with his nearest neighbor being almost a half mile away. The two story building had a deck that ran along the front of the apartment with the living quarters being on the second story and a two car garage on the first. He pulled his car into the driveway and climbed out, locking the doors securely behind him. Keeping his keys clutched in his left hand, he climbed the steps to the deck and unlocked his apartment, flipping the switch on his right as he went through the front door.

The apartment had an open floor plan with the living room at the front and the kitchen at the opposite end. His bedroom was off to the left with an adjoining full size bath. The interior was decorated in varying shades of brown, beige, and cream with white accents. The hardwood floors and the kitchen cabinets were made of unfinished pine.

The normal serenity of the apartment was disrupted by the black fingerprint dust that covered most of the flat surfaces in the apartment and the personal papers that had been left littering the floor when his fellow police officers searched the apartment after his arrest. A cursory glance in the bedroom showed that room in disarray. Dresser drawers were open and his clothes were strewn around the room in direct contrast to his usual tidiness.

Sighing heavily, he ignored the mess as he stripped off his clothes on the way to the bathroom. Adjusting the water in the shower stall to a comfortable temperature, he stepped under the spray and closed his eyes, letting the water beat down over his bowed head and shoulders. Slowly, he began to relax as the tension drained from his muscles.

He heard the phone in the living room ring but ignored it. The answering machine would pick it up. He didn't feel like talking to anyone right now. He stood there until the water ran cold, then shut off the water and stepped out. Grabbing a thick towel hanging on the rod, he toweled off briskly and padded on bare feet to his bed. Without bothering to get dressed, he threw himself down on top of the comforter and was asleep within minutes.

He slept soundly, awaking earlier than usual the next morning. The sun was just coming up over the horizon when he climbed out of bed to begin his day. With no schedule to keep, he was at a loss momentarily. If it had been a normal day off work, he would have cleaned his apartment or ran errands. Somehow, neither of those activities held any appeal for him today.

Noticing the flashing light on his answering machine as he walked towards the kitchen for his first cup of coffee for the day, he remembered the phone call the previous evening while he was in the shower. He pushed the button to listen to the one message it contained.

"_How's it feel, you son of a bitch to be on the other side of th_e _fence this time? Even if they don't find you guilty of that bitch's murder…I'll still make sure you rot in hell." _A cold bitter laugh accompanied the threat_. "Either way, you're a dead mother fucker."_

There was a sharp click as the caller hung up. Starsky frowned. The voice had been too muffled for him to identify as anyone he recognized. It was even hard to tell if it was male or female. He slipped the tiny cassette tape out of the machine and pocketed it for evidence. Not that it would do much good. It could have been someone he had pissed off who was getting their kicks pulling his chain. And that list was too long to even think about so early in the morning. He had made more than his fair share of enemies over the years. He continued into the kitchen to get his coffee and see what he had in the house to eat.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

"Thought you might want to hear the latest hit on the top forty hit parade," Starsky drawled as he sauntered into Hutch's office and tossed a tiny cassette tape down on the desk. "Found that little gem on my machine this morning."

Hutch opened his desk and took out a tiny tape recorder. Inserting the cassette he pushed the play button and listened to the single message. When the tape had finished, he shut off the machine, ejected the tape and looked Starsky with an arched brow.

"Any idea who your secret admirer is?"

"Nope," Starsky slouched down in one of the chairs facing the desk and stretched his legs out in front of him. Even in his relaxed state, he radiated an intimidating presence that seemed to fill the room. But, Hutch was not a man who was easily intimidated by anyone.

"You think somebody's just trying to pull your chain?"

"Maybe."

"Why give it to me? Why not turn it in to the police?"

Starsky shrugged. "Don't much matter one way or the other. Can't identify 'em even if we had a solid suspect. So, what now, counselor?"

"Do you mind if I hang on to this for a few days? I have a friend in the linguistics department at UCLA that might be able to listen to it and tell us a little more about your mysterious caller."

"Knock yourself out."

"Why don't you go home and lay low for now?" Hutch suggested, slipping the cassette into his jacket pocket. "I'll be in touch if I hear anything."

"I'd rather go out and get laid," Starsky said dourly "Better stress reliever."

"I wouldn't know," Hutch said just as dourly. "It's been a while." He flushed involuntarily at his slip of the tongue when he saw the ghost of a smile that crossed Starsky's face. Once more he found himself wondering what there was about this particular client that had gotten under his skin so quickly.

"Might wanna do something about that," Starsky said in a mocking tone. "Blue balls can be a bitch."

"Like I said, I'll be in touch if I hear anything." Hutch said as he tried to divert the conversation back to a more neutral topic. He deliberately turned his attention back to the paperwork on the desk dismissing the smirking brunet. He didn't look up until he heard the office door close with a soft click.

He spent the morning catching up on the never ending paperwork that seemed to clutter his desk and then decided to go over to the University to see what his friend could tell him about the tape in his pocket.

It was a typical California day: hot and muggy with a gray overcast to the sky. Nestled in a low basin surrounded by mountains, Bay City was notorious for its smog. The thousands of vehicles in the area plus the Los Angeles/Long Beach port complexes all contributed to an increase in the air pollution and frequently irritated Hutch's own allergies to pollen and animal dander.

Climbing into his car, Hutch eased into the noon day traffic and headed for the Westwood neighborhood of Los Angeles. U.C.L.A. was the largest university in the state of California in terms of student body and one of the most popular universities in the United States. Hutch had received both his under-graduate and graduate degree from there. It had been farthest he could get from Duluth, Minnesota and his over-bearing parents. It was there that he had met Vanessa in the middle of his freshman year.

The sprawling campus had 163 buildings spread across 419 acres. Hutch found a vacant spot in the parking lot outside the building that housed the University's linguistics' department. He pocketed his keys as he walked into the building, breathing a sigh of relief as he entered the air conditioned interior.

He crossed marble-floored lobby and took an elevator to the tenth floor. Thick carpeting muffled his footsteps as he strode down the hallway and stopped in front of a door with the nametag 'Roger Bennet' discreetly displayed to one side. He rapped lightly and waited until a voice from inside the office called in a muffled tone "Come in. It's open."

He opened the door and stepped into the casually decorated office. Bennet was a former schoolmate of Hutch's who had chosen to make academia his career. He was short and thin with thick black rimmed glasses and a tiny brown mustache. His thinning hair was badly in need of a trim and his charcoal colored slacks were rumbled. He glanced up at Hutch and a pleased smile crossed his face at the sight of his old college buddy.

"Hey, Hutchinson," he said in a surprisingly deep voice. "What brings you all the way down to my neck of the woods?"

"This…" Hutch said as he pulled the tiny cassette out of his jacket and handed it across the desk. "I need to know if you'll give this a listen and tell me anything you can about the caller.

"Let's see what you got," Roger said. He turned and put the tape into an elaborate machine sitting on a second desk behind him. He pushed a button and listened intently to the tape. When it had ended, he shut it off and took the tape out of the machine. Handing it back to Hutch, he said, "Off hand, I'd say it's definitely a male…probably in his late twenties to mid-thirties. Possibly from the Midwest originally but he's been out here long enough for his speech to become a bit blurred. Does that help?"

"A little. At least now we know it's a male." Hutch said as he slipped the tape back into his pocket. "That's more than we could tell just by listening to it."

"What can I say? I'm gooood…" Roger chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. "It's been a long time…we really need to get together sometime. Have a couple of drinks and catch up."

"Yeah," Hutch agreed "I don't seem to see any of the old gang anymore."

"Well, if I remember correctly, the ice queen never approved of any of us mere mortals."

"She still doesn't."

"You're still together?" Roger said with an arched brow. "I'm surprised. I figured you two would have split by now and that Vanessa would have moved on to bigger and better things."

"To be honest I think it's just a matter of time," Hutch was surprised that it didn't hurt more to say those words out loud. Just another symptom of a slowly dying marriage. There was a time when it would have felt disloyal to say such a thing but, now, it just didn't matter any more. "I'd really like to stay longer but I need to get back to my office. I'll give you a call soon and we'll get together."

"Sure. You do that." Roger said. The two men smiled at each other, each of them knowing that neither of them would be likely to make that call anytime soon.

"Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it," Hutch said

"Any time. Glad I could be of assistance."

Hutch left the office. As he crossed the lobby, a co-ed who appeared to be in her early twenties smiled at him seductively as they exited the building together. She pouted, flipping her long blonde hair in frustration when Hutch smiled and then continued on his way without striking up a conversation.

Traffic was heavy on the way back to Bay City and it was late afternoon before Hutch arrived back at his office. He checked his messages and returned a few phone calls before deciding to call it a day.

He was mildly surprised to find Vanessa there when he got home. Even more surprising was the delicious smell coming from the kitchen and the two candles flickering on the dining room table. Since Vanessa couldn't cook and they couldn't keep a housekeeper for more than a few days at a time, it was apparent that Vanessa had had the meal delivered from one of the neighborhood restaurants.

"Did I forget our anniversary or something?" Hutch asked with a trace of sarcasm in his voice as he stripped off his suit jacket, tossing it over the back of the sofa as he loosened his tie.

"Can't I do something nice for my husband for a change?" Vanessa cooed in a sultry voice that Hutch recognized far too well.

"That depends," Hutch said wearily. "I'm too tired to play games with you tonight, Van. What do you want?'

"You don't have to be so rude," she snapped, annoyed that he didn't appreciate her efforts to do something to please him. "And what makes you think that I want anything?"

"Because I know you and you never go all out like this unless you want something…and it's usually money." Although his stomach growled hungrily, he didn't relish the idea of sharing a meal with Vanessa.

"Would it surprise you to know that it's not money I'm interested in this time?" Vanessa sneered. She crossed to the table and deliberately blew out the candles.

"What do you want?" Hutch asked too tired to take the bait and start another fight.

"I want a divorce." Vanessa said in a tightly controlled voice that sounded both cold and bitter. Her eyes glittered angrily as she glared at her husband with disdain. Her sudden shift from loving wife to shrew came as no surprise to Hutch. This was a side of Vanessa that he had become painfully familiar with over the past few months. Still, her words sent a cold chill down his spine and his stomach twisted into a painful knot. "I've already talked to an attorney."

"Are we going to discuss this like two adults or are you going to start screaming and breaking things?"

"I think we've gone way beyond that." Vanessa said with a thin smile. "There's a suitcase packed in the bedroom. I want you out of here tonight."

"Just like that?" Hutch snorted. "Why should I be the one to leave?"

"Because if you don't, my dear…I will make your life a living hell."

"What makes you think you haven't done that already?" He was almost ashamed of the satisfaction he felt when he saw the surprise and hurt in her eyes. Almost. But the look only lasted only a couple of seconds before it was replaced by rage, and he knew he had to move quickly if he was to avoid hellfire and brimstone.

"Fine, if that's the way you want it," he growled as he brushed past her and stalked into the bedroom. He grabbed his shaving kit out of the bathroom and the suitcase sitting on the floor beside the bed. In the living room, he paused long enough to grab his treasured guitar from the hallway closet before leaving the apartment for the last time.

.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

Hutch checked into a hotel not far from his office, and paid in advance for a room for two weeks. The impersonal hotel room was a balm to his battered psyche. He turned in early and slept soundly until morning. After a quick shower, he had a light breakfast in the hotel's dining room before heading to his office.

"Hold my calls," he told Amanda as he passed her desk. "And tell Kevin I'd like to talk to him about a private matter when he has the time." He walked into his office and closed the door.

A few minutes later, there was a light tap at the door, and Kevin Billings, one of the other junior partners, entered the office.

"Hey, Ken," he greeted his colleague. "Amanda said you wanted to talk to me."

"My wife wants a divorce." Hutch said bluntly. "And I don't plan on contesting it."

"I see." It was obvious that Hutch wasn't looking for any condolences. "Does she have a lawyer?"

"She said she does. I'll let you know as soon as I know who's representing her."

"If you have any joint bank accounts, you should close them and open new accounts in your name only," Kevin suggested "The same thing goes for your credit cards or any other joint accounts you might have."

Hutch smiled thinly without replying. Vanessa had probably hit the bank as soon as it opened. After Kevin left the office, he tried to concentrate on his work, but felt off-balance and distanced from his normal routines. Yet, at the same time, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Hutch could almost hear his father's voice echoing in his head. _A Hutchinson never shows any weakness. A Hutchinson doesn't show his emotions. A Hutchinson always comes in first. _ And the list went on and on. At one time or another in his life, Hutch had broken each of the 'family' rules at least once and now he was breaking another one. _A Hutchinson doesn't get divorced. _He knew that, in his father's eyes, he was a disappointment to his family, bringing shame to the Hutchinson name.

Around noon, he called the condo to make arrangements to pick up the rest of his things, but there was no answer. Since he had the afternoon free, he decided to pick up the rest of his clothes and some personal papers. He didn't see Vanessa's car in the parking lot when he pulled into his assigned space, but he found the door unlocked when he entered the apartment. He glanced around at the disarray in the living room, taking note of the open boxes holding most of his belongings. Obviously Vanessa was doing his packing for him.

He strode across the room and opened the bedroom door, stopping abruptly as his mind registered the image before him: a naked Vanessa in bed with an equally naked man. The man cursed at the intrusion, glaring at Hutch suspiciously as he grabbed the sheet to cover himself but Vanessa simply looked at him with a smirk.

"You should have called, darling," She said mockingly. "As you can see, I wasn't expecting you. But, I don't suppose it matters now. I'm sure you realize this isn't the first time I've entertained someone in your absence. The only difference is that now I don't have to sneak around to do it."

"You really are a bitch!" Hutch hissed as he slammed the door shut on her taunting laughter. It took every bit of his self control to keep from smashing things to vent his rage as he stormed out of the apartment.

Once in the relative privacy of his car, he angrily slammed his fist against the steering wheel. Although he had always suspected Vanessa of cheating on him, having it so blatantly thrown in his face hurt, and it hurt badly. He pulled into the street, tires squealing shrilly as he accelerated, weaving recklessly in and out of traffic. His anger had cooled somewhat by the time he reached his office building, but the grim expression on his face clearly warned others to keep their distance.

He was surprised to find David Starsky waiting in his office. The brunet was slouched in one of the chairs with his feet resting comfortably on the edge of the desk.

"You look like hell," he drawled as Hutch settled into the chair behind his desk. "Late night, counselor?"

"Screw you, too."

Starsky cocked an eyebrow, with a smirk tugging at his lips. "That bad, huh? What happened? Spend another night on the couch?"

"More like a hotel room," Hutch didn't even try to keep the bitterness from creeping into his voice.

"Your old lady kicked ya out?"

"It's none of your business." He knew he sounded rude but, he didn't care. "What are you doing here?"

"Just wanted to find out if your friend at the university could make heads or tails of that tape."

"He said it's definitely male, late twenties to mid thirties. Probably from back east but out here long enough to lose most of their accent."

"Not much to go on." Starsky said in a mildly disappointed tone. He had been hoping for more information than that.

"Anybody come to mind that might fit that description?"

"Besides me?" Starsky said with a mocking smile, "Nope, but then I didn't know most of Kelly's friends…"

"So we're still at square one." Hutch sighed and leaned back in his chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose. It had already been a stressful day and he could feel a migraine coming on. "Maybe your anonymous admirer will call you again and do or say something that will help us find out who he is."

"With my luck he'll turn out to be some nutcase who's just trying to rattle my cage."

"Maybe, but right now, it's the only lead we've got."

"Well, I better get out of here," Starsky said as he shoved himself to his feet. "I'm sure you've got work to do."

"Actually, I'm ready to call it a day. How about grabbing something to eat?"

"Sure, why not?" If Starsky was surprised by the impromptu invitation it didn't show as he readily agreed. "But, it's my treat this time. You paid the last time."

"Huggy's okay with you?"

"Sounds good to me."

The two men left the office together and went to their separate cars. They met up again twenty minutes outside of _The Pit_s. Since it was a Friday night, the bar was crowded and the noise level high. Spotting an empty table near the back of the room, Hutch shouldered his way through the crowd with Starsky following. They slid into the booth and ordered two beers from a harried waitress.

Starsky relaxed in his seat, one arm stretched across the back of the booth as his gaze swept over the room. He was comfortable in almost any dive in the city but, somehow he felt like he belonged here. He glanced at his companion with a thoughtful expression. The blond seemed cool and aloof most of the time, but there were other times, like now, that Starsky saw a different side that seemed to cry out for a friend.

When the waitress returned with their drinks, Hutch ordered a salad with ranch dressing on the side, while Starsky ordered a double cheeseburger with a double order of fries. Hutch made a face at his choice of food.

"That stuff will kill ya, ya know. Clog your up arteries."

"My arteries are doing just fine, thank you."

"You really should take better care of yourself." Hutch lectured him in a prudish voice that Starsky dismissed with a crooked smile.

"Yeah, yeah…my body's a temple and all that shit, right? You do your thing, Blondie, and I'll do mine, and we'll get along just fine."

The deep line between Hutch's brow deepened, but he chose to remain silent. He didn't want to argue with Starsky when Vanessa was the real object of his anger.

"I'm sorry if you're having trouble with your wife," Starsky said, surprising Hutch with his sincere concern for a relative stranger. "I know it's a bitch. I hope things work out."

"I think it's a little too late for that," Hutch said, shocking himself with his willingness to share something so personal with a man he didn't know that well. He took a long swallow of his beer.

"That has to suck for someone like you."

"What the hell is that suppose to mean?"

"Hey, man," Starsky held up both hands, palm out, in a surrendering gesture. "No offense intended. I just meant that someone like you has more to lose than somebody like me when it comes to a divorce."

"I'm sorry," Hutch said contritely "It's been a hell of a day. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"Don't sweat it. Like you said, it's none of my business." Starsky smiled to show his companion that there were no hard feelings. For whatever reason, he felt himself strangely drawn to Ken Hutchinson as the first tentative steps were taken towards a budding friendship.

The waitress appeared briefly to set their plates in front of them before hurrying away to tend to an impatient drunk at another table. The two men began to eat their food in a comfortable silence. As he ate, Hutch stole a few thoughtful glances at his dinner companion. He could feel the unfamiliar pull towards his new acquaintance. Guarded by nature, Hutch didn't let too many people get close to him. Too many times someone had acted like they wanted to be his friend but all they really wanted was to get to know him because his family had money.

The two men relaxed and had a few beers together before calling it a night. As he prepared to leave, Hutch said, "Why don't you come by my office in the morning and we'll go over all the evidence the police have against you. Maybe you'll pick up on something you missed." It was a spur of the moment suggestion but Hutch still had a feeling that there was something off about the circumstantial evidence being used against his client.

"Yeah, sure. Around ten okay with you?"

Hutch nodded his agreement. "Sounds good. See you then."


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

Starsky awoke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. He lay there in the darkness as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. What had awakened him. A dream? A noise from outside? A chill? Before he could process all the possibilities, a hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth and nose. He struggled as the odor of the chloroform on the rag covering his face filled his head. His struggles slowly weakened and finally stopped as the drug rendered him nearly unconscious.

Impressions flickered in and out of his mind: the feeling of being lifted and jostled, then being thrown into a small enclosed space; the sensation of being in a moving vehicle; a breath of fresh air and a sudden chill; pins and needles in his arms and legs as more awareness began to return.

When he found himself in total blackness, he panicked momentarily until he realized that his eyes were covered by a blindfold. Tentative flexing of his muscles told him that his wrists were tightly bound behind his back, but his legs were free. His other senses registered a hard, cold surface beneath him with a rough texture that scraped against his exposed skin.

His stomach churned uneasily, his throat felt raw, and the inside of his mouth was dry: symptoms he all too readily recognized. While still in uniform, he'd been kidnapped and used as a bargaining chip to try and force the release of a murder suspect. Of course, the ploy didn't work and Starsky was eventually rescued without any major injuries, but he had never forgotten the aftereffects of chloroform. Breathing deeply, he forced his muscles to relax as he continued to assess his current situation.

Obviously, whoever had abducted him didn't want him dead, at least not yet. That could be good, or it could be bad. Whoever had grabbed him might just want to make him suffer before they killed him. That could not be answered until his abductor made his presence and his intentions known. Unfortunately, patience had never been one of Starsky's strong points.

He tugged at the rope that bound his wrists, wincing as the rough hemp cut into his skin. But the knots had been tied by an expert, and there was no give to the restraints. He took several deep breathes and exhaled slowly. Common sense told him that he needed to conserve his energy for whatever lay ahead.

It's hard to keep track of time when you're restrained and blindfolded. Minutes seem more like hours, and hours feel like days. Everything takes on a surreal feeling. Sounds are intensified and other senses sharpen to compensate. Under those circumstances, it was far too easy to become disoriented and confused. Starsky knew that he needed to stay alert so that he could figure out a way to get out of the mess that he found himself in.

Some time had passed when he heard the sound of quiet footsteps approaching from his right. He tensed, every sense on high alert, as the footsteps stopped before reaching the spot where he lay.

"Kidnapping a cop isn't a very smart thing to do," he growled, instinctively using the only weapon he had left at his disposal: his mouth. "You won't be able to make any deals if that's what you got in mind. And killing me will just get you the death penalty."

"I'm not interested in making any deals," a deep, rumbling voice said. "And to get the death penalty, they'd have to find your body first." There was a long pause, and then the disembodied voice continued, "As far as anyone else knows, you ran because you couldn't face being found guilty for killing that slut you were married to."

"You really think anybody is gonna believe that?"

"The ones who don't won't be able to prove anything." The man's voice sounded smug and confident.

Unfortunately, Starsky knew that his captor was right. There would be people who would be more than willing to believe that he had jumped bail and run out on his family, friends and former life. The people who would be on his side were few and far between.

He flinched, startled when the man's hand grabbed his hair and violently pulled his head back. Distracted by his own thoughts, he hadn't noticed when the man had moved closer.

"Either way, I win, you prick," the man hissed in his ear. "Everybody will think your nothing but a coward and a murderer…and in the meantime, you and I can get to know each other a whole lot better." With those ominous words, a well aimed kicked to the gut bent Starsky double as the air was forced from his lungs. Two more well placed kicks followed, leaving him gasping for breath as the man walked away with a sinister laugh.

Starsky coughed violently as he struggled to catch his breath. The muscles in his stomach cramped violently, protesting the abuse. It was several agonizing minutes before he could finally draw in enough air to satisfy his lungs' desperate need for oxygen. He lay there on the ground, curled up in a defensive position, as he breathed deeply and exhaled nosily.

**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS SSSSSS**

Hutch frowned as he pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at the time. Starsky was supposed to have been in his office twenty minutes ago.

Irritated, Hutch stabbed at the intercom button on his phone. "Has David Starsky arrived yet or called to say he'd be late?"

"No," Amanda's silky voice answered. "Do you want me to try and call him?"

"Yes. And if he's there, tell him he has fifteen minutes to get his ass in here." Hutch tried to concentrate on the paperwork on his desk but found himself periodically glancing impatiently at the door.

The intercom buzzed, and Amanda's voice said, "There's no answer at Mr. Starsky's home. Do you want me to keep trying?"

"No." Hutch left his office, barely casting the receptionist a glance as he strode past her. "Cancel my appointments for the rest of the morning. I'm going out for a while."

Dealing with mid-town traffic did nothing to improve his mood. By the time he reached Starsky's house forty-five minutes later, he was seriously pissed off. Rapidly climbing the front steps, he pounded loudly with a clenched fist on the front door.

"Starsky! If you're in there, you better open this fucking door!" He waited and then pounded again when there was no response. When his pounding was still ignored, he tried the front door. He wasn't surprised to find it securely locked. Frustrated, he stomped back down the steps and climbed into his car. He pulled away with a squeal of the tires and a burst of speed.

His next stop was Al and Rose Starsky's home. Al opened the door with a welcoming smile that quickly faded when he saw the smoldering anger in Hutch's eyes.

"Where's your nephew?" Hutch demanded. "He was supposed to meet me in my office first thing this morning, and he never showed up."

"I don't know. Rose and I haven't seen him since Monday afternoon. If he missed an appointment with you, I'm sure that he had a good reason."

"He'd better have a damn good reason," Hutch was not in the mood to be pacified. "As long as he's out on bail, he's supposed to make sure that I know his whereabouts at all times."

"He knows that," Al said with a hint of anger creeping into his own voice. "And like I said, if he missed an appointment with you, then I'm sure that Davy had a good reason."

"If you hear from him, have him call me immediately." Hutch turned and walked away. By the time he returned to his office, his temper had cooled substantially. As an officer of the court he was legally obligated to report Starsky's absence to the judge in charge of his case, but he decided to wait a bit longer before over-reacting unnecessarily.

He called John Blaine, who also denied having seen Starsky in the last twenty-four hours or knowing his current whereabouts. Blaine did volunteer to help try and find him unofficially using official channels to conduct a search.

Hutch's afternoon was filled with paperwork, a court appearance and three appointments with prospective clients. It was almost five o'clock when the phone on his desk rang. Picking up the receiver on the second ring, he said, "Hutchinson."

"It's John Blaine," the older man's voice said in his ear. "I found David's car. It was parked in the long term parking lot at LAX."

"Do you think he ran?"

"That doesn't sound like David. I checked the flights to New York but he wasn't listed as a passenger on any of them."

"He could have gone somewhere else."

"If he did, he wasn't listed on any of the passenger manifests." Blaine told him.

"He could have used another name." Hutch pointed out.

"That would imply intent."

"I have to report this to the court."

"I know that." Blaine's voice was discouraged but resigned. He knew that Hutch's hands were tied and he had no choice but to report Starsky's disappearance. Unfortunately, that meant Starsky's bond would be revoked and a warrant would be issued for his arrest. "I'll be in touch if I find out anything else."

"You do that, and I'll wait until morning before I report him missing."

Hutch hung up and cleared his desk before leaving for the day. He decided to stop by The Pits on his way home for a bite to eat. It was early enough that the hard core drinkers and hookers looking for a trick hadn't arrived yet. There were only four customers in the bar. One was a homeless man who stopped in every night for a hot meal courtesy of Huggy Bear, one of Huggy's waitresses on her break, and a young couple sharing a pizza.

"You're here mighty early this evening, counselor." Huggy said as he ran a bar rag over the spotless surface of the bar in front of Hutch. "Name your poison."

"Give me a Caesar salad with ranch dressing on the side, a bowl of mushroom soup and an iced tea."

"Where's your new friend tonight?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. He seems to have pulled a disappearing act on me."

Huggy arched one brow inquisitively. "You think he made a run for it?"

"I don't know what to think," Hutch admitted. "I don't want to think that he'd be that stupid, but I really don't know him that well."

"Well, for what it's worth, I asked around and the word on the streets is that he's a good cop…a real straight shooter."

"Who just happens to be accused of killing his ex-wife," Hutch grumbled

"Yeah, well from what I hear, it's anybody's guess who offed her. The lady had a way of pissing off lots of people, not just her ex."

"That's what I heard, too."

Huggy called Hutch's order back to his cook and then poured Hutch a glass of iced tea. "I could ask around for you…see if anybody knows where he took off to."

Hutch eyed his friend thoughtfully. A friend to the local street people, Huggy was well known and respected in the neighborhood. Over the years, he had become a valued source of information for the Bay City Police without violating the trust placed in him by the second class citizens that came to him for help. If anyone could find David Starsky, he could.

Finally, Hutch nodded. "Thanks. I'd appreciate that. Something's just not right about this whole situation."


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

Starsky drifted somewhere between consciousness and oblivion. Time had lost all meaning here in his concrete prison. He was no longer sure how long it had been since he'd been abducted. A few hours or a few days; it all felt the same.

His constant companion was an aching throughout his body which was not only intensely painful, but was compounded by a chill in the air, a burning thirst, and hunger pangs that made his stomach cramp. His wrists were still bound securely behind his back, but at some point, the blindfold had been removed. Not that it did much good. The room where he was being held either had no windows, or they were covered with something that blocked out any light from the outside.

Sometimes, a rustling in the surrounding shadows warned him that he wasn't alone. He never knew when his captor was going to suddenly appear out of the darkness to torture him again. Fortunately, although the beatings were painful, his kidnapper was careful not to inflict any real damage. But, the physical abuse coupled with the lack of food and water, was rapidly draining Starsky's strength. With the shadows in the room obscuring his tormentor's face, Starsky knew he would never be able to make a positive ID.

Slowly, Starsky forced himself to become more alert. As he carefully shifted positions to ease the stiffness in his back and legs, he felt his face bump against something on the floor beside him. Further investigation revealed a plastic bowl filled with water that had been set there. With his hands tied, the only way he could drink the water was to struggle to his knees and bend forward so he could lap at it like a dog. It was warm with a distinctive muddy taste to it, but to Starsky, it tasted like the finest sparkling spring water. He drank quickly to quench his thirst, causing his stomach to cramp in protest. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, willing the much needed fluid to stay down.

Once he had satisfied his thirst, he lay back on the floor and let himself drift back into a semi-haze; not fully alert, but not completely unconscious either. In the recesses of his mind, he vaguely toyed with the thought that his captor's voice sounded hauntingly familiar. Not that remembering would get him anywhere. He knew that his chances of being rescued were virtually non-existent. He expected that he would die in this place, alone with nobody there to mourn him, while being branded a murderer and an escaped felon by his peers.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I'll take it," Hutch said as he looked around the apartment with its open floor plan. It suited his needs perfectly. It was a furnished one bedroom apartment located on the second floor of a building aptly named Venice Place. The building's owner was the manager of a deli style restaurant located on the ground floor.

"I'm sure you'll like it here," the woman, who had introduced herself as Helen Chavez, said with a pleased smile. "That will be six hundred dollars for the first month's rent and the security deposit."

Hutch nodded as he took out his checkbook and wrote her a check for the required amount. As he handed it to her, she handed him the keys to the apartment. "I'll put the receipt in your mailbox," She told him. With a parting smile, she left him alone to explore his new home. He sighed softly as the door closed behind her. He was grateful that he had found this apartment relatively easily. He hadn't been looking forward to juggling work, house hunting, and his upcoming divorce.

As he looked around, Hutch mentally decorated the apartment. An attached glass enclosed patio overlooking the street would make a perfect greenhouse. Vanessa hadn't allowed any plants in their apartment, and he was looking forward to having the freedom to explore his green thumb.

He would have liked to have spent more time getting accustomed to his new home, but he needed to get back to the office. He was meeting with a client later that afternoon, and he had some paperwork he wanted to catch up on before then. Locking the door behind him, he pocketed the keys and left the building.

When he got back to the office, he was surprised to find Al and Rose Starsky waiting for him in the outer office. Al immediately rose to his feet and said, "We need to talk to you."

"Hold my calls," he said to Amanda over his shoulder as he ushered the older couple into his office.

Rose sat down in one of the chairs but Al remained standing. He appeared to be both distracted and agitated. Dispensing with the small talk, Hutch got straight to the point.

"What can I do for you?"

"Are they going to try and take our house?" Al demanded.

"They could, but I wouldn't worry about that just yet," Hutch reassured him. "A trial date will be set and if David hasn't been found by then, the court could try to take possession, since you did put the house up to ensure the bond."

"David didn't run," Al insisted "He wouldn't do that!"

"All the evidence suggests that he did,"

"I don't care what the evidence suggests. You don't know David. He wouldn't do something like that."

"People sometimes do things we wouldn't expect them to do when they're facing the kind of charges that David is facing."

"He was framed!" Al said firmly. "We trusted you to help him prove that!"

"I never made any promises other than to represent David to the best of my ability, and I have done that. Surely, you must realize how this looks to the court."

"We don't care how it looks to the court," Rose said tearfully "All we care about is David."

"And I can appreciate that, but my hands are tied." Hutch's voice softened "Look, John Blaine is doing all he can to help. Hopefully, he'll turn something up, and we'll be able to find David before it gets that serious."

"Something's happened to him!" Rose declared, tears rolling freely down her face. "I just know it has!"

"Now, now, darling," Al said as he turned his attention to his distraught wife. He patted her back in an awkward, yet comforting gesture. He threw a sharp glance in Hutch's direction. "We're counting on you." He took Rose's hand and gently helped her to her feet. "David is counting on you." With that parting shot, the couple left the office.

Hutch leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel the start of a migraine coming on. He could sympathize with the older couple, but he had to maintain a professional distance. And that was becoming more and more difficult to do with this case. He had felt an almost instant connection with David Starsky. It was a connection that he was at a loss to explain, but, there was no denying that it was there.

Pressing the intercom button, he said, "Get me John Blaine at the Metropolitan Division."

Within minutes, his phone rang. Picking up the receiver, he said, "Ken Hutchinson here."

"Mr. Hutchinson, its John Blaine. David's trail turns up cold at the airport. I think someone wants us to believe that he skipped town."

"Any ideas who?"

"Too many…David tended to rub people the wrong way sometimes…especially the bad guys." After a long pause, Blaine added, "I put together a list of the most likely suspects and have been checking them out. So far I haven't come up with anything."

"What if it's someone who doesn't have anything to do with him being a cop?"

"That's always possible. I'm digging into Kelly's background too. Whoever it was they had to be familiar enough with David's routine to know the best time to grab him."

"Or they've been watching him for the past few days," Hutch suggested "And just waiting for the right opportunity to come along."

"That's possible too. I'll let you know if anything turns up," Blaine said. There was a soft click on the other end of the line as he disconnected the call.

Hutch gathered up his things and prepared to leave for the day. He paused at the receptionist's desk long enough to instruct Amanda to reschedule his afternoon appointment.

He drove to his new apartment and parked in front of the building. The restaurant on the first floor was already closed for the day, and the street was quiet. Hutch knew that wouldn't last. Within the next couple of hours the night people would come out of hiding, ready to resume their nocturnal existence. Hookers looking for a trick, junkies desperate for their next fix, pimps keeping an eye on their merchandise, and hustlers looking to make a quick buck.

Hutch climbed the enclosed staircase to the second floor and paused on the landing to dig the key out of his pocket. He liked the fact that his new home was the only apartment on the second floor. No neighbors to contend with. No need to paste on a phony smile and be polite when he really wasn't in the mood to socialize. He entered his new sanctuary and closed the door, shutting out the outside world until morning.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

Starsky jerked awake with a start. He lay there, breathing heavily, as he tried to figure out what had awakened him so abruptly. After several minutes of listening intently without hearing anything unusual, he slowly allowed himself to relax. He ran the tip of his tongue along his dry, cracked lips, but his mouth was so dry it provided little relief. The water bowl beside him had been empty for some time, and his captor hadn't bothered to refill it. Closing his eyes, Starsky let himself drift back into a stupor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

John Blaine sighed heavily as he tried to concentrate on the file lying on the desk in front of him. It had been a long day, and he was ready to go home. From the corner of his eye, he saw a uniformed officer approaching his desk.

"Detective Blaine?" the young officer said quietly, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other in the presence of the senior officer.

"I'm Blaine. What can I do for you, Officer…" he glanced at the young man's name tag "Collins."

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir…it may be nothing, but I thought you should know…"

"Know what?" Blaine asked patiently, smiling to put the young man at ease.

"My partner and I investigated a TA a couple of days ago. A drunk driver ran a red light and broadsided another vehicle. He wasn't hurt, but the other driver was a D.O.A. We didn't get a positive ID on the fatality until this morning. His name was Scott Mitchell and he lived out in the Valley."

"What's all this got to do with me?"

"Turns out he was a private investigator. We found a notebook in his car that indicated that he'd been following your partner, Detective Starsky, for quite some time."

"Where is this notebook?" Blaine demanded, immediately interested in this new information. Starsky had been missing for almost a week, and this could be the lead he needed to find him.

The younger man handed Blaine a small spiral bound notebook with a black cover. "It looks like he might have been following Detective Starsky's ex-wife too," he added as an afterthought.

"Thank you, Officer, for bringing this to my attention."

"Yes, sir. I hope it helps Detective Starsky somehow. For what it's worth, I think he got a bum deal."

"I'll make sure and tell him you said that," Blaine said with a thin smile. _If I can find him. _He thought to himself as the rookie walked away to return to his own duties. His fatigue forgotten, Blaine began leafing through the notebook.

Two hours later, he had read enough of the notebook to realize that the PI had been following Starsky and Kelly for the last six months. Why he was following them was unclear, but he had continued to follow Starsky even after Kelly's murder. His surveillance had ended the night before Starsky's disappearance. At least that was where the notebook ended.

He spent the next three hours finding out as much as he could about Scott Mitchell. He was divorced with no children and had been a PI for the past three years. His reputation was a bit shady, to say the least. For the right amount of money, he would investigate anyone, and at least twice, he had been suspected of planting evidence in favor of his clients. He was often behind on his bills, and yet he still appeared to live far above his financial means. Blaine was unable to find the name of any client who had hired him to follow Starsky and his ex-wife. Still, it was a connection that he couldn't ignore.

Slipping the notebook into his desk, he locked the drawer and left the squad room. Hot on the trail of a possible clue, he headed for the PI's home to do his own search for any evidence that might help him find his missing partner.

Mitchell lived in a rundown neighborhood that was frequented by hookers, drug addicts, youthful gang members and other degenerates. Half of the houses were abandoned with boarded up windows and overgrown lawns. The street was littered with trash, and the only working streetlight was at the far end of the block.

Mitchell's house was dark. The picture window overlooking the street had a large crack in it, and heavy curtains covered all the windows, preventing anyone from seeing inside the dwelling. Blaine twisted the doorknob and shoved against the door with his shoulder. It swung open unexpectedly, catching him by surprise. Stepping to one side of the doorframe, he drew his weapon and flipped off the safety. Moving cautiously, he peered into the dark interior of the house, alert for any signs of danger. Tentatively satisfied that the building was empty, he stepped inside. He felt along the wall on his left until he found the light switch. When he flipped it on, dim light from a bare overhead bulb filled the room. Carry-out containers, empty pizza boxes, and paper cups littered the living room. A stack of newspapers was on the floor next to the sofa, and a 12 inch TV with a pair of bent rabbit ears stood on a rickety stand in one corner of the room. The threadbare carpet was dirty and stained from years of abuse, and the walls were a faded shade of gray. A cautious look into the other rooms revealed the same neglect and clutter as the living room.

Re-holstering his weapon, Blaine began a careful, systematic search of the house. He started in the living room and ended in the bedroom. His search uncovered several items of interest. It was obvious that someone was seriously obsessed with David Starsky.

Blaine picked up the phone to check for a dial tone. Satisfied that the instrument was working, he dialed headquarters and requested that a crime lab team be sent to the house immediately. Blaine snorted in frustration as he hung up. You couldn't interrogate a dead suspect, and nothing he had uncovered so far told him what had happened to Starsky or where he was.

When the crime team arrived, Blaine gave them some last minute instructions, and then he left them to their jobs while he returned to headquarters to write up his report on the new development in the case. But, first, he called Ken Hutchinson to bring him up to date on the new information.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx

Hutch frowned as he hung up the phone, pondering how this new information figured into Kelly Starsky's murder and David Starsky's disappearance. He had instructed Blaine to let him know immediately, day or night, if he discovered anything else that could be helpful to the case.

When he drove home, he was surprised to find Vanessa waiting from him in front of his apartment. Climbing out of his car, he approached his soon to be ex-wife cautiously.

"What are you doing here, Vanessa?" he demanded in a tightly controlled voice. She was dressed in a clingy, stylish white linen pant suit and outrageously high heels. A wide black belt accented her trim waist. But, Hutch was unfazed by her beauty. He knew far too well the cold heart that beat inside that perfect body.

"I need five thousand dollars for the payment on the condo." She said "It's due at the end of the week."

"Our lawyers discussed this. The condo is being put up for sale, and the proceeds will be divided between us equally."

"And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? I still need a place to live."

"That is not my problem," Hutch said coldly. "Find another apartment. I did."

"You cheap bastard!" Vanessa hissed, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "You're going to pay for this!"

"I already am," Hutch pointed out as he brushed past her, entered his building and closed the street level door on her continued ranting. He climbed the stairs to his apartment and went inside, being sure to lock the door securely behind him.

It would be a few more weeks before the divorce was finalized and this was all behind him. In the meantime he would have to ignore Vanessa's demands and veiled threats. The divorce might have been her idea, but that didn't mean she was going to make it easy for Hutch to walk away from their marriage.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

Starsky lay in the darkness taking slow, shallow breaths. A heavy weariness pulled at him, sleep calling to him seductively. There was a part of him that knew if he gave in to the siren call of sleep, he would never awaken, and yet, there was another part of him that desperately wanted to surrender. He had given up hoping for a miraculous rescue. He wondered if anyone was even looking for him, or if they even cared?

He knew that Rose And Al would grieve his passing, and his mother back in New York, but he doubted if anyone else would miss him that much. To his fellow officers he was a disgrace, a cop gone bad, a blight on the entire force.

The one thing he regretted, besides not being able to clear his good name before he died, was not being able to get to know Ken Hutchinson better. There was something about the somewhat aloof Midwestern that he felt would be worth it.

But, Starsky had learned long ago in the jungle of Viet Nam not to linger on thoughts of things that might have been. He had never been afraid to die, just of dying alone. That was his last conscious thought as he slowly drifted into oblivion.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I'll be damned," John Blaine growled as he reviewed the newly uncovered documents lying in front of him. Gathering up the loose papers, he stuffed them into a folder and tucked it under his arm as he hurried out of the squad room. Twenty minutes later, he was entering Ken Hutchinson's office.

"What's this?" Hutch looked up questioningly as Blaine, a satisfied smirk on his face, slammed the folder down on the desk.

"Proof that David didn't kill Kelly," Blaine said smugly. "Scott Mitchell did, and then framed David for it." He sank down in one of the chairs facing Hutch's desk, casually stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles.

"Why? What was his motive?"

"He was Kelly Starsky's biological father."

"There's no record of her being adopted,." Hutch said with a troubled frown.

"She wasn't. Her mother had an affair with Mitchell and got pregnant. She passed the baby off as her husbands to avoid a scandal. Mitchell never knew that he was Kelly's father until four years ago when he received a letter from Kelly's mother confessing everything."

"None of this proves that he killed her?" Hutch pointed out.

"Yes, it does. It's all right there in his own handwriting. He apparently confronted Kelly about her mother's confession, only she didn't react the way he expected her to. She turned on him and said everything wrong in her life was his fault for never being there for her. He lost control, the argument turned violent, and he ended up beating her to death. Then he panicked and came up with the idea of framing David for her murder, since he knew there was bad blood between him and Kelly."

"So, what about David? Where is he?

"I don't know," Blaine admitted regretfully. "Mitchell snatched David to make it look like he skipped bail and ran; then he planned to kill him and get rid of the body where nobody would ever find it. But, there's nothing in there that tells us where he took David."

Hutch leaned back in his chair and frowned again as he absorbed everything Blaine had just told him. It all made sense in a twisted sort of way.

"So, we have a dead man's confession for murder and kidnapping, but we don't have any idea where to find his latest victim."

"That's about the size of it. I've got men tearing Mitchell's place apart. They found this in a safety deposit box at his bank. Hopefully, they'll find something at his house to tell us where he might have taken David."

"If he's even still alive," Hutch said in discouraged tone "We may be looking for a body."

"I know," Blaine admitted a bit more harshly than he intended. He smiled apologetically. He shoved himself to his feet. "I'll keep you posted and let you know if we turn up anything else."

"I'd appreciate that." Hutch said

Blaine paused at the office door and then looked back over his shoulder at Hutch. "Rosie and Al don't know about any of this yet. I figured there was no point in telling them anything until we had something we could tell them about David."

"That's probably for the best," Hutch agreed. In the short time he had known them he had come to respect the older couple. They had an unwavering faith in their nephew along with a quiet strength that helped them to endure the obstacles that they had to confront during this crisis.

Distracted by this new information, Hutch decided to leave early. Since Amanda was on vacation, he gave the temporary receptionist instructions to cancel his appointments for the rest of the day. He drove aimlessly through the downtown streets, weaving in and out of the flow of traffic, running the various scenarios about the case through his mind. Nothing about this case had fallen into the realm of normal. Looking forward to a quiet night at home, he finally headed back to his own apartment.

After a quick shower, he changed into a comfortable old jogging outfit and watered his growing jungle of plants that was starting to take over every available surface in his domain. The stress of his marriage to Vanessa was starting to fade into the background as he settled nicely into his new life as a bachelor.

A tapping at the door interrupted his private thoughts. He strode across the room and opened it to find John Blaine standing on the landing

Without waiting for Hutch to say anything, Blaine said excitedly, "Mitchell's mother left him her house when she died. It's been sitting empty for the past three years. I was on my way to check it out and thought you might like to come along."

"You bet I would." Hutch motioned Blaine inside. "Just give me a couple of minutes to change."

Hutch quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a faded blue tee shirt; then, with Blaine behind the wheel, they headed for the east side of town. The neighborhoods gradually became more rundown and neglected as they drove through the narrow city streets. The address for Anne Mitchell's home belonged to a tiny bungalow with a thatched roof and boarded-up windows. The lawn was littered with trash and broken bottles, but the grass was nearly trimmed.

The houses on either side of the bungalow were vacant, and there was a heavy silence in the air that made the hair on the back of Hutch's neck stand on end as he and Blaine cautiously made their way to the front porch.

The lock on the front door was broken, and it appeared to have been that way for quite some time. The door swung open slowly with an eerie screeching sound when Blaine gave it a shove. The two men stepped inside, pausing as they waited for their eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior. The furniture was covered with heavy sheets, and the air was hot with a musty odor that was common in deserted buildings.

"It doesn't look like anyone's been here for a while," Hutch commented based on the condition of the living room that he could see.

"Still, it won't hurt to check it out while we're here," Blaine said.

Hutch agreed and waited while Blaine returned to the car for a high powered flashlight. When he returned, they began to slowly make their way though the house. They didn't spot anything out of the ordinary until they reached the kitchen, which was remarkably clean compared to the rest of the house. A door on the far side of the room was secured with a new padlock.

"Looks like somebody's been here," Blaine said "Must be the basement,"

"Looks like somebody wanted to keep everybody out," Hutch commented

"Or somebody wanted to keep somebody in," Blaine said grimly as he reached under his jacket and pulled his gun from his holster. Hutch took a step back as Blaine aimed at the lock and fired one shot, shattering the wood and breaking the lock. Sliding his gun back into his holster, he shoved the door open and peered into the darkness, casting the light down the rickety wooden steps that led into the basement. Cautiously, the two men descended into the blackness.

The air in the basement was even hotter and stuffier than upstairs, mingled with the odors of decay, vomit, urine, and feces. Blaine paused at the bottom of the steps and swept the flashlight around the room. Rusted appliances, broken down furniture and trash littered the enclosed area. A pile of rags in the far corner of the room caught Hutch's eye. As he stared at the rags more closely, he realized with a start that it was actually a crumbled up body curled into a fetal position.

"There's someone over there in the corner," he said as he hurried across the room. Falling to his knees beside the body, the first thing that registered was the tangled brown curls and the dried blood on the cement floor beneath the body.

"It's David," Blaine said in a haggard whisper as he knelt beside Hutch and reached out to touch his partner's neck with two fingers. "He's still alive. Stay with him. I'll call for an ambulance."

As Blaine hurried back up the stair to call for help, Hutch scooted around so that he was sitting at Starsky's head. With gentle hands, Hutch turned the other man over onto his back and let his head rest in his lap. He could hear the raspy haggard breathing and smell the odor of Starsky's unwashed body. His skin was cool to the touch and felt dry to Hutch's touch, a sign of severe dehydration.

"Ambulance is on its way," Blaine said as he returned, kneeling down beside Hutch. He let the light shine on Starsky's face which was battered and bruised, almost beyond recognition.

"He's lucky to be alive," Hutch mumbled "He's been here for what? Over a week? Probably without any food and little or no water."

"And beat to hell…" Blaine added in a weary voice. "He wouldn't have made it much longer."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts, as they waited for help to arrive.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

Hutch made a face as he took a sip of the bitter, lukewarm coffee from the hospital vending machine. His stomach rolled uneasily, nauseated from too much caffeine in the past few hours. He glanced at the doors that led to the inner sanctum of the hospital where Starsky's unresponsive body had been taken as soon as they arrived. Blaine had spent most of his time on the payphone keeping abreast of the ongoing investigation and overseeing the officers in charge during his absence.

Hutch sat on one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room and sighed. Leaning his head back against the wall, he closed his eyes. It was almost two o'clock in the morning. They had been here for over six hours. A doctor had come out briefly around midnight to tell them that Starsky had made it through surgery and was being transferred to the ICU.

The doctor's assessment had been neither positive nor negative. Starsky's condition was listed as critical because of severe dehydration and starvation. He had lost almost twenty pounds and had suffered several cuts, bruises and abrasions from repeated beatings. He had a moderate concussion, three broken ribs, and severely bruised kidneys. The immediate problem, besides the dehydration, had been a ruptured spleen which was causing internal hemorrhaging.

Blaine walked over to Hutch and sat down next to him. "I called Al and Rose. They're on their way here. It looks like we have enough evidence to clear David of the charges against him. I'll be talking to the DA in the morning about filing the paperwork to officially release him from custody." He glanced at Hutch "We might as well head out when Al and Rose get here. We both could use some sleep."

"You've got that right," Hutch agreed in a tired voice. "I'm just glad things turned out the way they did."

"You and me both,"

"He's a lucky man,"

"He's a stubborn cuss," Blaine said with an affectionate chuckle. "No matter what life throws at him, David always seems to bounce right back. He's always been that way…ever since he was a kid."

"He'd never have been cleared if Mitchell hadn't been cocky enough to write everything down." Hutch said

"Some perps are like that. They can't brag about it to anyone so writing it down is the next best thing. But, we would never have found him if Mitchell hadn't been killed in that car accident and had the evidence in the car that pointed to a connection with David and Kelly."

"Funny how things work out sometimes."

"Yeah, it is." Blaine agreed. "I've seen a hell of a lot of shit over the years, but people can sometimes still surprise the hell out of me. There's a lot of crazies out there."

"Tell me about it," Hutch agreed ruefully "I've run into my fair share over the years." A bitter smile tugged at his lips "Including my soon to be ex…"

They both saw Al and Rose hurrying down the hall towards them. Rising to their feet, they greeted the older couple cordially.

"Thank god you found Davy," Rose said, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Can we see him."

"You'll have to talk to the doctor, but I'm sure they'll let you see him for a few minutes," Blaine told her.

"Is there enough to clear Davy of the charges against him?" Al asked gruffly, as he slipped an arm around Rose's shoulders.

"Yes. Things are going to be fine," Blaine reassured him. "And now that you're here, we're going to take off. Give David my best."

Blaine and Hutch left the hospital and Blaine drove Hutch home. He fell into bed without bothering to undress, too exhausted from the night's events to care. He slept soundly until the next morning, but he was still tired when the alarm went off. He decided to go in late so he could get some more sleep. He called and left a message on the firm's answering machine before going back to bed. It was almost noon when he woke up again and dressed for work.

At the law firm, one of the senior partners, Chad Randall, was waiting. He gestured with his cigar for Hutch to join him in his office. "Come in. And close the door." Randall's gravelly voice was hoarse from too many years of tobacco and whiskey, and he coughed harshly as he watched the younger man do his bidding. Then he leaned across his desk and gazed levelly at Hutch for several second before speaking. "I heard about your pro bono case. Looks like things worked out for everybody concerned."

"Looks that way. What do you want, Chad? You didn't call me in here to congratulate me on a job well done."

"I'm sure you realize that it's not the policy of this firm to represent clients pro bono. We can't make money that way. I trust it won't happen again."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought I was in charge of choosing my own clients and making my own decisions," Hutch said in a carefully controlled tone.

"Yes, as long as those decisions don't have an adverse effect on the firm."

"You mean as long as they aren't clients like the Starskys who can't afford to pay the outrageous fees you charge."

"You're an excellent attorney, one of the best in the firm." Randall's smile was phony. "That's why I'm willing to overlook this little oversight. The bottom line is, this is still a business, and a business has to make money."

Hutch was silent for several minutes, fighting to keep his anger under control. There were a lot of things he didn't agree with when it came to the policiesof the firm. Before, he had always looked the other way in order to further his own career, but suddenly that didn't seem so important anymore. Maybe it was time to start thinking about a change.

"Is that all?" he asked coolly.

"That's all assuming we understanda each other, and that this doesn't happen again for as long as you work for this firm."

"Don't worry." Hutch returned the senior partner's thin smile "Message received loud and clear. It won't happen again for as long as I work here."

Before Randall could comment, Hutch turned and strode into his own office. Sitting down at his desk, he pulled out a clean sheet of paper and began to type out his resignation.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

Hutch stepped from the elevator and cast a smile at the petite blonde nurse behind the desk as he walked past her and down the hallway towards Starsky's room. It had been a week since the resilient brunet had been rescued from the basement where he had been held prisoner. It had been touch and go for a few days, but now he was on the mend. He was still weak and in a fair amount of pain, but he was already complaining about the hospital food and the forced inactivity.

Hutch had visited almost every day. Slowly, the two men were getting to know each other better and becoming fast friends. The paperwork had been filed with the court, and all the charges against Starsky had been dropped. His name had been cleared, and he was once more in good standing with the BCPD.

Hutch had tendered his resignation at the firm, and was now officially unemployed. But, thanks to a private trust fund from his grandfather that he had never touched, he was thinking about starting his own firm and was looking at office space in various locations. His divorce from Vanessa was moving along despite Vanessa's repeated delays and new demands, all merely stalling tactics on her part to delay the inevitable as long as possible. Hutch had offered her a very generous settlement and, given her greedy nature, he had no doubt that she would accept his terms eventually.

He entered Starsky's room and found the injured man flirting with a nurse's aide. The young woman smiled shyly at Hutch as she scurried from the room to return to her duties.

Hutch arched an eyebrow at Starsky. "A little young, don't you think?"

"Just having some fun," Starsky said with a lopsided grin. "I ain't gonna date her. I'm not into jail bait."

"That's good to hear. You had me worried there for a minute."

"Did the doc say anything about when I can get out of here?"

"He said Friday, if you're a good boy."

"I never did thank you…for everything," Starsky said quietly.

"You don't need to thank me. Blaine did most of it."

"I already thanked him."

"I'm just glad it all worked out."

"I suppose." Starsky frowned slightly. "Kelly and I may have had our problems, but she didn't deserve to die like that."

"Nobody should have to die like that," Hutch agreed "So what are your plans now?"

Starsky shrugged. "Go back to work as soon as I get cleared for active duty. Being a cop's all I've ever wanted to do, and I'm good at it."

"What would you think about coming to work for me?"

"For you?" Starsky said in a startled voice. "Doing what?"

"I'm opening my own practice, and I could use a good man as an investigator. I'd be willing to pay twice your current salary."

Starsky whistled softly. They were talking about no small amount of money. "You drive a hard bargain, counselor." He said, smiling a little. "It's a tempting offer…very tempting. Can I think it over for a couple of days?"

"Sure, take all the time you need. It'll be a couple of months before everything's up and running. Personally, I think we'd make one hell of a team."

"I have a feeling you're right." The idea definitely appealed to Starsky. He would think it over and examine all the pros and cons, but he had a feeling he already knew what his decision would be.

Maybe it was time for a change.

THE END - OR JUST THE BEGINNING?


End file.
